Thirty Pieces of Silver
by e.danae
Summary: Coauthor: Wade Scott. Response to WIKTT !It’s Ms. Granger to you! challenge. HBP spoilers. HGSS ...He had no intention of actually applying for the position, but it was a unique opportunity to enter the Ministry legally...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Let me say loud and clear: _Wade Scott_ is a senior co-author, gifted plotting brain and supervisor of the style of this story. I am very thankful she encouraged me to join her journey – with my English and writting skills, limited as they are, I would hardly dare post anything here any time soon. It's posted under my author's account only because this is the easiest and most convenient way at the present moment.**

**Thanks to K8 for the final grammar check of this chapter.**

**Response to WIKTT **"It's Ms. Granger to you!"** challenge. HBP spoilers.**

**x x x x **

"Would you be so kind and give me back my wand? I have an appointment at 8 a.m. at the Department of Intercultural Affairs and I would really hate to be late."

The plump wizard behind the security desk lifted up his lazy face. "Sorry, but security rules have changed after the recent attacks. I am required to check each wand using a complete set of diagnostic charms. _Without exceptions_." He bent his head again and continued his work, now using some strange silver ruler, and glancing indolently from time to time at the man in front of him.

Severus' fingers drummed impatiently on the desk. He tried to look calm although he began to feel a little nervous. His instincts told him that this was simply taking too long. He cautiously looked around the hall of the Ministry of Magic but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Fortunately, the hall was empty as usual this early in the morning. The only sounds he could hear were the gurgle of the water from the rebuilt Fountain of Magical Brethren and the low murmur of a small group of wizards huddled in front of the bulletin board, gesturing wildly at today's Daily Prophet. Even from his place at the desk he was able to see the headline: "**Worst Attack Against Muggles So Far! _Incident Reported by Muggle Newspapers_.**" he read.

"Definitely not good," he thought. "I wonder what story the Ministry spun this time."

He looked back at the Security desk and caught the plump wizard staring at him. He scowled in reply. In the last ten years he has seen many reactions to his appearance, and this certainly wasn't the worst one. He knew that his face was a shock to many people – the nasty crimson scar covering half of his face from forehead to chin made a stark contrast to the rest of his pale skin and short salt-and-pepper hair. He still wasn't used to the stares, but it simply wasn't practical to wear a Halloween mask other than on the 31st of October.

On the other hand, his appearance had its benefits too.

It kept away those who didn't know him. It protected him from those who used to know him. Very useful for a man who had a bounty on his head for the past eleven years.

"Ebony, dragon heart string, and not used very much during the last few months. All right, sir…" Severus jerked from his musings as the fat man returned the wand and then turned on his heel to leave.

"Just a moment!"

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the desk. "Yes?" he drawled in his most cold and controlled voice.

"Would you kindly show me your left forearm?"

He felt his heart skip a beat. "Excuse me?"

"These days, a thorough security check is required of each visitor to the Ministry. I am deeply sorry, sir," he added, in a tone of voice that convinced Severus that he wasn't really sorry at all.

The blood was pounding in his ears now. Was this really the standard for everyone? Or was he finally recognized…? Well, it would surely be suspicious if he refused. Slowly, he started to roll up his left sleeve for the security wizard. He watched as the plump man recoiled slightly in horror. "This…do you have this on your other arm, too?" he whispered.

Without a word Severus rolled up the sleeve on his right arm. The security wizard flinched.

All too similar to the scar on his face, large and loathsome burns covered his forearms from wrists to elbows.

X X X X

In the empty elevator, he leaned his weary head against the wall and closed his eyes. The constant clanging of chains was interrupted from time to time by a cool female voice announcing the floors and the rustling of a lonely paper aeroplane fluttering around the elevator light. Severus now felt the full weight of his decision – and felt trapped. For ten years he had been avoiding the Wizarding world completely, having The Daily Prophet as his last and only link. And now…

He tried to calm himself. Easy. Don't panic. Just pass on the message and never enter these doors again. And really, there was no backing out now anyway.

He quietly cursed himself for the curiosity and suspicion that led him to the piece of parchment tucked away in his pocket. For one whole week he fought his conscience and nagging feelings of responsibility. For one whole week he couldn't sleep for wondering if he should pass the parchment on to somebody at the Ministry of Magic. He hoped he would never again be forced to enter the Wizarding world – his life was now more peaceful and content than ever and he really didn't want anything to change. It wasn't until he read the advert in the Daily Prophet three days ago, announcing interviews for a vacant position at the Department of Intercultural Affairs, that he finally decided. He had no intention of actually applying for this position, but it was a unique opportunity to enter the Ministry legally and give his memo to the one and only person he felt that he could trust. The one person too intelligent, too daring, to throw it right into the waste basket.

"Level Three," announced the voice. "Department of Intercultural Affairs."

Severus opened his eyes and stepped out of the lift and into the long corridor. He looked around with interest – although the entrance hall of the Ministry was still the same, here on level three everything had changed. The walls of the corridor were snow-white and almost gleaming. There wasn't a single broken chair or wad of discarded parchment anywhere, certainly a welcome change of scene compared to the other departments of the building. Even the paper aeroplane exiting the elevator with him flew straighter than before and landed properly in front of the door on the left. Each of the doors had a little golden nameplate announcing the occupant, rather than the hastily scribbled labels adorning other floors. He found door number eight towards the end of the corridor. Putting his hand on the doorknob, he stopped for a second. Again he felt his heart pounding and took a deep breath. Calm down. Just pass on the message and leave. He knocked.

"Come in," a voice answered.

Opening the door, he was forced to close his eyes immediately. The pale misty fog of February London was very unlike the bright winter sunshine filling the room. Enchanted windows, of course. He could hardly see the person sitting behind the desk, a bare, dark contour drowned in the flood of light.

"You're late," she reminded him.

"I'm very sorry. I didn't expect such a…_thorough_ security check."

Once his eyes got used to the light he could see the person behind the desk. However, he still wasn't sure who he was looking at. Sure, he recognized the voice, but he could hardly connect it with the woman in front of him. Her head was bent over some parchments and reflexes of the winter sun danced across her bun of smooth, nut-brown hair. The slim fingers with their perfectly manicured nails wrote something very quickly, using a very expensive quill.

"Ah yes, the new security rules. A bit tough, aren't they?" she asked, as she laid down the quill and stood to greet him. She winced only slightly when her eyes met his deformed face. He was impressed at her extraordinary self-control.

"Please tell me that 'probe' is required for everyone?"

He was rewarded with an appreciative chuckle as she stood and walked around the table to greet him.

"Mr. Samuel Hawke, I presume? How nice to meet you." Despite any initial shock in his appearance, she now smiled warmly at him and proffered her hand.

He shook it and took a moment to appreciate the woman before him. Now he was sure it was her. He couldn't say she has changed, necessarily, it was more like she has become what she was always meant to be. She held herself with grace and poise, and seemed taller to him. "Probably from the lack of a heavy bookbag," Severus mused to himself. Also gone was her aura of frumpiness. Her robes were tailored and sharp and her heels were well polished and absolutely scuff-free. And her face… When he last saw her, her face was only a draft, a promise. Now it was a complete and perfect painting. The artist working on her for the past ten years did a wonderful job. Still, there was something untouched by time on her face. Something…imperfect.

If she noticed him staring, she didn't react to it. "Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable," she said as she gestured to the chair beside him. "I just have a few questions for you about your suitability for our department. Her voice was calm and businesslike but he didn't miss that the perfect make-up was covering dark circles under her eyes. Miss Granger probably spent last night at the Ministry due to the last attack.

With a slight wave of his wand, he summoned the chair and sat, his eyes never leaving her face.

She returned to her desk and shuffled her papers briefly. "What do you know about this department and its tasks?"

Severus paused for a moment. His first intention was just to hand over the parchment and leave. But now he was interested, in spite of himself. Her face woke too many memories in his head and besides, he wanted to linger for a while.

"As far as I know," he started slowly, trying to recall what he had read over the years, "the Department of Intercultural Affairs was developed ten years ago from the consolidation of Obliviator Headquarters, Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee and part of Improper Use of Magic Office."

Miss Granger nodded. He realised what was missing from her face. It was her eyes..

Their surface was peaceful, but almost fathomless, and in their depth there was the same sense of dusk he saw ten years ago. Dark despair without a single beam of light.

"It's no secret," Severus continued, "that the brilliant new system saved the Wizarding world from certain exposure during the Second War. As the terror of Voldemort escalated, it became more and more difficult to hide the truth from the Muggle population. The creation of the D.I.A. eliminated the confusion and lack of communication between the previous Departments and saved us from our looming exposure. Later, after the war, one purpose of this department was giving the Wizarding world accurate information about Muggles to allow them to be as inconspicuous as possible in any possible confrontation. But in my opinion, the main purpose is to monitor Wizard/Muggle relations and punish severely anyone who would be so careless to put the Wizarding world in danger of revelation again."

Hermione's lips twitched in amusement. "Very perceptive, Mr. Hawke." Severus could tell she was impressed. "Now, would you possibly remember who was the first head of this department?"

"Arthur Weasley," Severus said, and added smoothly, "but word on the street is that the credit for the ingenious reorganization was a certain young muggleborn witch. Brightest of her generation, they say."

Miss Granger lifted an eyebrow but left the compliment without comment, simply lowering her eyes to jot down few notes. Severus found that any nervousness he had was gone. He was quite amused by this situation. When was the last time his intellect was tested like this? And by an ex-student?

She leaned forward in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her and leaning on the desk with her elbows. "Now, what experience and skills make you a candidate for this position?"

Severus shrugged casually and leaned back in his chair. "Besides having a Muggle father, I have lived among Muggles for the past ten years. I dare say I am quite acquainted with their life and customs. I got to know many places and many people in my line of work, which makes me an asset to the department as well as to certain… clients." He hoped that she was savvy enough to pick up on the undertones of his answer.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What exactly was your last job?" she asked.

"I have been a taxi driver in London for the last six years."

"And before?" Severus could tell she was fishing for something. He was sure he knew what, but he wasn't going to give it to her.

"I used to work in an old folk's home," he replied lightly.

Hermione gave him a surprised look. He smiled and gently touched his nasty scar.

"It doesn't seem appropriate, does it? But believe me, these old fellows don't mind how one looks. The only things they long for are kindness and carefulness."

For the first time of their interview she seemed to be taken a little aback. "I certainly didn't mean…" she stammered.

He interrupted her with a wave of his hand. "Of course not. Any other questions?"

"Oh yes, yes indeed," she said as she nervously shuffled her papers. "I need to see some kind of proof of education. Ministry policy."

Severus winced. The game was over. There would be no better moment than this. He would pass the message, look for the last time at the beautiful face and desperate eyes of Miss Granger and then leave her forever.

He reached into his pocket and gave her the tattered parchment.

"This is not a…" she said, then paused. Her eyes raced back and forth as she read it and her cheeks went pale.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded, her voice hoarse.

"Never mind where I got it. I just have it and give it."

"If this is a real, how come the Auror department hasn't heard of this?" She challenged, eyeing him skeptically.

He snorted. "Let's say that I have less scruples and more contacts than any Auror you know."

Was it just him, or did he see a glimpse of hope in her eyes?

"Less scruples, you say?"

He sneered. "Almost zero."

He was surprised to see her stern mask melt into a genuine smile.

"I do believe you are hired, Mr. Hawke," she said, standing and extending her hand.

He stared at her in disbelief.

"You do want this job, do you not?"

He swallowed hard. This wouldn't work. He simply couldn't risk… But his body seemed to have a mind of its own as he stood. Hermione shook his hand firmly.

"Tomorrow morning at eight, then. I am looking forward to working with you, Mr. Hawke."

"So am I, Hermione." Her name slipped from his lips. He inwardly cursed his carelessness.

Her smile disappeared at once, and whatever brief warmth her eyes held was quickly replaced with a deep sadness.

"It's Ms. Granger to you, Mr. Hawke."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Wade Scott here. I thought I might give a word of explanation about this "co-author" thing. The lovely and talented Danae will be penning the chapters told in Severus' point of view, while I am responsible for Hermione's. And although I tend to be quite bossy and have too much time on my hands, technically both Danae and I are equal partners in plotting. So a big round of applause for Danae, who puts up with me, let me in to play with her little plot bunny, and is most likely responsible for anything redeeming in this fic.

**Disclaimer:** What? You mean these people aren't real? They're just figments of JKR's phenomenal imagination? And I'm in no way getting any sort of payment for any of this? Oh, sod it all…

* * *

Hermione smoothed the parchment flat against the desk once more. Added stress was something she definitely did not need today. Maybe tomorrow, once a hot bath had relaxed her muscles and sleep had rested her tension headache. But not today, after a long night at the Ministry putting out fires ("Literally," she moaned) from the latest act of Wizard terrorism. Her gaze shifted to the Daily Prophet that lay open on her desk. The pictures were awful—crackling violent flames repeatedly devouring a grey block of flats in one of the poorest neighborhoods of Glasgow. But the pictures, and the horrors they implied, didn't even scratch the surface of the horrors that truly were. Hermione had fought to keep the harsher images suppressed, primarily for the sake of the victims. There were hundreds of them, too. The tenants, who lived so far below the poverty line that they could scarcely feed them selves, let alone own a smoke detector, were caught unawares in the dark night as the fire quickly spread. As sickening as it was finding remains of charred bodies, the real torture was finding the charred living. By the end of the night, close to a hundred children had been sent to St. Mungo's, where Healers were frantically trying to find a remedy for the magical burns. It made her stomach just thinking about it.

She had worked half of the night with Kingsley, inventing some plausible excuse for the Prime Minister to relate to the Muggle public and swearing to him, with all the reliability she had garnered over the past ten years, that yes, the Wizarding world was able to cope with this alone. After all, this was most definitely a magical fire, and only an incredibly competent witch or wizard could have been behind it. No, thank you for the offer, but the Auror force was quite able to investigate the crime scene and gather all necessary evidence. Yes, the culprit will be found and justly punished. Yes, we have everything under control.

And yet, after saying the same things for the third time in as many months, the words sounded hollow even to Hermione's ears. Attack after attack these words were harder and harder to say, let alone trust. Even _she_ failed to believe them.

She studied the paper between her fingers once more, and noticed she was picking at a ragged edge. But this, she just knew, this inconspicuous little paper, was _something_. A _clue_. And Merlin knows, they've had precious little to go on so far. That alone made it worth investigating.

That was what she had to cling to. Reaching into her top drawer, she pulled out her compact and re-applied the concealer under her eyes and the familiar "I've got everything under control" smile. And if this new stranger was to be believed, that smile was one step closer to reality.

Upstairs, the Auror's office was a flurry of activity. Whether it was just the shift change or the previous night's activities, Hermione couldn't tell, but the usually lax atmosphere seemed quite thick. Every face that passed held a busy, serious look except for two people: an Auror with dreadlocks sacked out on the couch in the corner and a smiling Tonks.

"You look like you've had a rough night there, Hermione," she piped over the wall of her cubicle. "Come to think about it, I do believe I saw the Minister around here earlier. Looked a bit overworked, just like you."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with a large tenement fire last night, now would it?"

"Possibly," Tonks conceded as the younger witch stepped inside the "office." Tonks' cubicle was reminiscent of her personality: chaotic and cluttered. Papers were lumped into piles on her desk, and wadded bits of parchment littered the floor by the trash bin, obviously short of their mark. On the walls were tacked reminders of various committee meetings and due dates, next to crayon drawings of stick figure families, unicorns, and dragons. Above the desk was a photo of two little girls. Lily, five, was trying to hide behind her father's leg while her sister, Cassie, nearly two, was busy bumping around the picture trying to extricate herself from the frilly dress she was wearing. Turning back to her work, Tonks added with a cheeky smile, "Although I'd bet he'd rather be making fires rather than running around putting them out."

Hermione knew exactly where this was going. "I am not dating the Minister of Magic, Nymphadora," she answered firmly.

"Hey, now, no need to get testy. I was just sayin', that's all," she said. Then, turning in her swivel chair back towards Hermione, "And why not, exactly?"

Hermione sighed. "Why is it the aim of every happily married person to hook you up with the next available candidate?"

"He is not 'the next available candidate. For your information, Hermione, I happen to think very highly of Minister Longbottom. If he hadn't repealed Umbridge's Anti-Werewolf legislation…well, little Remus Junior here wouldn't be making me sit up straight, that's for sure," Tonks retorted, giving her expanding belly a gentle pat and readjusting herself in her seat.

"So you know for sure it's a boy?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Well, Remus is sure hoping it's a boy. Some rubbish about 'carrying on the family name.' But you're changing the subject. What's wrong with dating the Minister of Magic?"

"Because, Tonks, it would be a 'conflict of interest.'"

That cheeky smile appeared again. "Well, now, it depends on the interest."

Hermione could only pinch the bridge of her nose in feigned exasperation. They had gone over this subject too many times to be truly annoyed. "Only you, Tonks, could place higher value on the poor Minister's dating life than the collapse of the Wizarding world as we know it."

The older witch simply laughed. "Just trying to keep things in perspective. Besides," at this point she sobered up slightly, "you look like you could use some wining and dining. And a good foot rub," she added, pointing at Hermione's feet, "those heels look miserable. Now come, sit, and tell Auntie Tonks just what's troubling you."

Hermione sat in the proffered chair, and took the parchment out of her pocket. "This," she said, tossing it on the desk in front of her. "Tell me what you make of it."

The Auror furrowed her brow in concentration. Immediately, she grabbed the calendar next to her and began thumbing through it, pausing between the months of November, January, and February and double-checking the paper before her. Turning back in triumph, she announced, "Congratulations, Hermione. You have a comprehensive list of dates, places, and incidents recording terrorist activities towards Muggles."

"On official Ministry letterhead."

"On official Ministry letterhead," Tonks repeated. "And this is relative…why?"

Hermione leaned forward. "Now let's pretend, just for a minute, that this morning I interviewed a taxi driver for the open position in the Department of Intercultural Affairs, and instead of a certificate of education, he presented me with this."

Tonks just studied the parchment skeptically. "So…does this make you think someone from the Ministry is involved in these attacks?"

"Tonks, you know as well as I do that nobody but a Ministry employee can write on it. There is a Restriction charm applied during production and trust me, it works."

"I'll take your word for it." Tonks winked at her. "And not just because you invented it." Leaning forward, she added, "But what exactly is your point?"

Hermione covered her face with her hands for a moment, trying desperately to find words to express what she could only feel as instinct. "Look, I know this is very circumstantial," she began, "but that fire was _last night_. If this was just some scrap piece of paper that my applicant picked up on his way to my office, then that's a damn fine coincidence. But…_if_ he received it yesterday, or the day before, then that last date there is either a prophecy or a plan. Either way, it's down right fishy, if you ask me."

Tonks nodded in understanding. "And because this is official Ministry parchment, you're thinking it's an inside job," she concluded.

"Either an inside job," Hermione added quietly, "or at the very least, somebody here knows more than they are letting on. Think about it Tonks—everybody from the Ministry to the Prophet are pinning these attacks on underground Death Eaters or Death Eater sympathizers. Why? Simply because they're against Muggles. But I'm not buying it." She started counting off on her fingers. "For one, Muggles have been the only targets. No prominent witches or wizards have been murdered. For another, no Dark Mark. Now, maybe it's because they're killing Muggles instead of Wizards, but nobody has thrown the Mark into the sky to take credit. In fact, nobody has taken credit for these acts at all," Hermione paused to take a breath. "And finally, Death Eater activity only starts up once they know they can hide behind the biggest bully on the playground. They don't stand or operate alone. And with Voldemort gone…"

"…They don't have anybody to hide behind," Tonks finished. "Unless they have a new leader?"

Hermione considered this. "But who? All known Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban." Tonks sat back and picked up the parchment once again while Hermione continued, "Either way, Tonks, I think we're barking up the wrong tree."

Tonks tapped the paper against the desk while she contemplated Hermione's reasoning. Turning her focus back on the witch in front of her, she asked, "And what about the man who gave you this?"

"I hired him," Hermione smirked.

"You…you what?"

"I hired him," she repeated.

"Moody would have a fit, you know."

"Good thing Moody is neither in charge of this investigation, nor my office." Tonks raised an eyebrow in a silent challenge. "I look at it this way," Hermione explained, "if this man can get the information he says he can, then he's an asset to the investigation, right?" Tonks nodded. "Now, on the other hand, if he turns suspect, at least we can keep an eye on him. I wasn't about to let him disappear after handing me that," she pointed at the parchment, which was willingly handed back to her. "And," she continued with a sly smile as she stood, "as the trusting employer I am, I also plan to do as much research as I can into this Mr. Samuel Hawke."

Tonks couldn't help but return the smile. "And if there's anyone who can do research, it's Ms. Hermione Granger." Suddenly she flinched and put her hand on the belly. "Oh, I know you are there, Remie," she breathed out. "Calm down." Hermione felt an instant stab of excitement and jealousy. Damn biological clock. Its constant ticking and Tonks' happy family were both constant reminders that she should have had a family by now, too. She stood to go.

Tonks obeyed the fetal command and straightened up. Reaching out, she grabbed Hermione's hand as she turned to leave. "Seriously, Hermione," she said soberly, "Moody may have been a paranoid old bastard, but he knew what he was talking about. Please, be careful."

"I will," Hermione replied. Squeezing her hand, she added, "I'll let you know what I find out."

OoOoO

Hermione's feet cheered in relief as soon as she stepped out of her shoes. Dropping her purse and a stack of paperwork on her kitchen table, she flicked her wand in the direction of the stove. She was cold from her travels and in desperate need of tea.

Not to mention tired and incredibly frustrated, as well.

When she wasn't dodging reporters from the Daily Prophet, Qibbler, or Wizarding Wireless Network, she was trying to find out as much information as she could about this enigmatic Mr. Hawke. As expected, her search through Ministry databases gave her nothing. No birth records, no O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. scores, no Apparition license, nothing. Samuel Hawke simply did not exist in the Wizarding world. Plus, information on his Muggle life was sketchy, to say the least. Sure, his job references checked out, but she knew they would. Otherwise, all she could come up with was that he lived in a small flat just outside the city, owned his own taxi and worked for himself, and that he paid his bills on time. For all intents and purposes, he was a simple man who lived a quiet life on the fringe of society.

Yet Hermione couldn't shake a feeling of familiarity. Something about they way he held himself in her presence, something in the way he looked at her, said that they should know each other.

In the bathroom, she turned the taps and wet her face. Over the course of the day she had used the better portion of her tube of Witch's Wonder concealer, and instead of the refreshed feeling the packaging promised, all she could feel was the caking around her eyes. She pictured Mr. Hawke again in her mind as she gently lathered her face, trying to pinpoint what had her so unnerved. Come to think about it, he was familiar and comfortable through the entire interview…until she shook his hand. For a brief moment she could tell she had startled him. But she had no idea why.

Sighing, face dripping water in to the sink below, she reached for a towel. She could even hear his confidence reflected in his voice.

Hermione. He had called her by name.

Like a lover.

"Like a ghost," she said sternly, almost forcefully, to her reflection.

"Like a ghost," she repeated, this time in a whisper, as she dropped the towel in the hamper and answered the call of her whistling teapot. She poured the water into her cup, idly dipping the teabag up and down in the water as her thoughts wandered again.

The past few months had brought many ghosts to Hermione's door. Ghosts she had hoped would stay buried where she left them ten years ago. She had seen enough war and violence then—seen enough to what people are capable of doing to each other. She had avoided the Aurory for that very reason. She had seen enough death to avoid a career in medicine. She figured she would be safe enough in Intercultural Affairs—an enchanted plug here, maybe an inappropriate goat charm there…a safe job in public relations.

Then it all went to hell. In a hand basket made by some anti-Muggle extremist.

She stared at the tea in her hands, and decided it was a night for something stronger. In the last three months there was hardly a night that wasn't. Raising her wand again, she summoned good ol' Uncle Ogden and retired to the sofa.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N1: First – thanks to you all for the incredible support and encouragement. We are really happy that the story, which brings so much pleasure to two weird girls, actually brings joy to somebody else too. **

**Second – thanks for your patience. I can't promise that the fourth chapter will appear much more quickly (though it could happen!), because we do love our plotting online sessions and polishing times, but it will _definitely _appear. Till that time, try Wade's livejournal (the link is in her ff profile, go via my Favorite Authors); there are some interesting background and behind-the-scene tidbits about this story and many other tasty things.**

**Though it's my time to post now, I have to say this chapter has two loving and caring parents. Both of us conceived this idea then I was bearing it for some time and finally gave birth to a screaming, wrinkled draft. After this, Wade took care of the crying baby and sent it back as this glamorous younglady. Hail to Wade, my writing teacher and precious friend!**

_** Danae**_

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Severus opened his eyes wide into the darkness. He lay motionless on his bed, listening to the loud pounding of his heart. His room was quiet and dark, except for the occasional beam of light passing across his ceiling from a lonely car on the street. There were still a few hours till dawn.

He had a dream.

He has never had dreams, or if he did, he's never remembered any of them. He's never been envious of people who had dreams, either – well, perhaps when he was a child, but he didn't remember it. Sleep has always been a dark harbor for him; a refuge, safe from memories of guilt, pain, or despair. The fact that after closing his eyes the entire world would disappear for hours made even the worst years of his life bearable. The awkward years at school, the horrible years in the service of the Dark Lord, the awful year after Dumbledore's death – most of his days seemed like a nightmare. He was glad he could avoid nightmares of the night. It was one of the secrets of his survival.

Severus winced. But tonight he had a dream. He didn't see anything – neither images nor faces. However, he did hear voices. A girl's voice full of despair, a man's voice heavy with weariness. But when he tried to remember the words and sentences, they just slid through his fingers like slippery fishes. He could only make out the last three words: _Take him away!_ It scared him, because he simply didn't know what was happening. And it felt so real. He rose from his bed and went to the kitchen. He needed something to drink.

He came back with a glass of water and sat on the bed. Sipping the water, he mused on the reason for tonight's strange experience. It must be the unusual time for sleep. In last six years the day was his night, and at night he usually drove his taxi. But it looked like these times were over, and tomorrow he would wake up in the morning like so many ordinary people. _Ordinary._ With a sigh he put the glass on a nightstand and lay down again. He tried to fall asleep, but after few minutes he found himself staring at the wall and thinking of his new job. He had bad feeling about it--he knew he would regret this decision sooner of later. The problem was, he couldn't say if he wouldn't have regretted refusing more. He wondered if instinct was behind his decision, or foolishness, or some sense of compassion for Miss Granger's plight. Be it one or all three, it was definitely going to put an end to his peaceful life.

Severus snorted into the dark. _A peaceful life. _Hardly anyone would describe a career as a taxi driver as peaceful. But he didn't drive a car for any of those big radio taxi companies that watched their cars at every moment, controlled their drivers like little children and were able to count the route to the meter with a penny in advance. He was self-employed and the nights were his. Most of his customers didn't care, but some of them appreciated it. The quiet young call girls, getting on his car at 3 a.m., and similarly, the experienced prostitutes from the city, their heels only a bit higher and the circles under their eyes slightly darker; robust men with leather coats and big tips; the celebrities who tottered out of suspicious doors at all hours. His experience as a spy was a big asset--he knew too well what to remember and what to forget, when it was good to talk and when it was better to stay quiet. That was the reason why many of them waited just for him in their usual places on their usual nights, letting other taxis pass one by one. They trusted his silence. And any conflicts he had over the years were quickly solved by the cold voice and glare he used on his students so long ago.

Severus looked at the alarm clock with a scowl. Fifteen to five. Damnit, ruddy dream – there was no way he could go back to sleep now. He stood up, switched on the lamp and walked into the kitchen to make his morning coffee.

oOo

"No, Mrs. Waterspoon, the gold dressing gown with a red china dragon on the back is definitely not the right dress when you go to visit the mayor to complain about the neighbors' kids behavior. Why? Because it's not what Muggles wear in public. It's _bedroom attire._ You must have some other muggle dress at home? Well, overalls aren't bad at all..."

A warm feminine voice filled the room Severus was observing. It was quite a large office with a big table in the middle, a huge bookcase by the opposite wall, and three smaller desks along each of the walls on his left and right. On the wall in front of each desk was a small fireplace – but currently, only one was lit. At the desk sat a young black girl talking with admirable patience to the head of a grumpy old witch. Aside from her there was just him and Hermione in the room. It was past 8 a.m. and they were touring the DIA, Hermione full of energy and with a broad smile on her face. Although he knew it was a professional smile, he still felt slightly impressed—it was so rare an expression during her school years. Then again, she hardly had any reason to smile in his presence, now did she? Severus noticed that she looked much more rested today than the day before. Her clothing was still impeccable and the dark circles were now gone. Her eyes, however, still haunted him with their emptiness.

"…And this is headquarters. There are eight of us in the department, usually five people for the day shift, which begins at nine, and just one during the night as an emergency," she continued as they walked toward the young witch. "Francoise Zabini, this is Samuel Hawke. He will be helping us out for a while." Turning back to Severus, she continued, "Francoise is one of our most competent workers."

Francoise smiled at the compliment before she returned to the grumpy witch in the fire. She was really young—about nineteen, Severus guessed.

"Zabini?" he asked quietly.

"Right," Hermione nodded, opening the door to her office. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Slytherin House. The best N.E.W.T. of Muggle Studies for last eighty years. Extraordinary member of our team."

Severus found he couldn't take his eyes off Francoise. She looked a lot like Blaise. _Who knows what happened to him_, he thought. He simply nodded in response as they continued across the room. "Other than hiring workers, Ms. Granger, what is your role in the department?" he asked.

"I mostly serve an advisory role to the Minister. As a member of his Cabinet, I oversee all public relations between the Wizarding world and the Muggle world," she explained.

Entering her office, the elegant snowflakes outside the window caught his attention. It lied again, today there was just mud on the streets of London.

She nodded towards the chair opposite her desk and waited for him to take his seat. There was no smile on her face anymore as she studied at him intently. It seemed she was pondering how to start. Severus leaned back in ostensible coolness, but inside he felt tense. He expected a confrontation.

"You are certainly aware that not only your job, but also your peaceful freedom depends on one crucial piece if information," Hermione began as she opened the drawer and laying the tattered parchment on her desk. "How did you get this?"

He expected this, just not right away and without any fuss. He smiled to himself and crossed his arms over his chest. Despite her underlying threat, the lack of arrest-hungry Aurors indicated that he held all the cards.

"I gave a lift to a man…right away he seemed suspicious. Had his hat low and his collar turned up so I couldn't see his face. I brushed it off, because the rule of thumb in this job is to mind one's own business and to see and hear as little as possible. Then he gave the address to the Leaky Cauldron. Said it wasn't well marked and not to worry if I couldn't find it, just dropping him off close enough would do. I found it interesting."

Hermione narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and nodded. Severus went on:

"Then his cell phone rang and he whispered when he started to talk, but after a while something upset him and he raised his voice. The last words I heard very clearly: 'I don't want step back. I would just choose another place, that's all.' When he finished, he took a piece of paper out of his pocket and started to study it very carefully. By the time we reached the Leaky, I knew something was up and decided to find out what was going on. I drove away very slowly and watched him in the rearview mirror. When he entered the Leaky Cauldron, I put on the brake and ran after him. I hit the courtyard just at the moment he was going through the gate to Diagon Alley. He must have been too preoccupied, because he didn't notice me. When I saw that the strange paper still sticking out of his pocket, it was more an instinct than a clever idea. I _accio'd_ it a second before he disappeared. I'm almost sure he didn't know what happened."

Hermione rested her chin on her hand. "So you're telling me that this person transfers between the Muggle world and the Wizarding world without any problem, has security clearance to write on Ministry parchments and is somehow connected to the recent attack?"

Standing up she walked to the tall bookcase and took out _Who's Who in the Wizarding World_, a huge book covered in red leather. "I would guess it could be someone from the Half-bloods or Muggle-borns," she said, opening the book with her back still turned to Severus. "Purebloods are usually worthless when it comes to coping with Muggles, and they usually don't care to."

"But they usually do enjoy tormenting them," he corrected.

"True. But using a cell phone? Way too sophisticated for the average witch or wizard. It doesn't say much, but it could be a clue anyway. By the way, what time did he stop you the other night?"

"It happened a week ago."

He watched her stiffen. She slowly turned around, a horrified look on her face, the open book still in her hands. "What? You mean to say... You had the date of the last attack in you hands for a week and you didn't warn anyone?"

"I was hardly able to do that."

"Why, for the heavens sake?"

"Because a week ago there wasn't the date of the recent attack."

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. "Look, Mr. Hawke, if this is some kind of sick joke, I have 100 burned children in St. Mungo's who don't find it funny."

"I'm absolutely serious," he interrupted her impatiently. "Believe me, I'm not so generous to leave the ten thousands galleon reward unclaimed. If there had been the third date, I wouldn't have hesitated for a moment. But there were just two of them."

She put the book on the desk and sat again. Her face and voice were fully controlled again, but Severus guessed it was just a facade. He could tell she was plenty angry. "Suppose you are telling me the truth. When did the third date appear then?"

He shrugged slightly. "All I know for sure is that two days before the attack there was nothing. That's when I spotted the advert for this position and thought you might be interested. That was the last time I checked the parchment. I put it into my pocket and didn't look at it until yesterday morning when I read the news in the Daily Prophet."

"So it could have happened anytime during those two days..." Hermione lifted the parchment and looked at it intently, turning it over in the light. "What could it be? Do you think the third date was there before or after the last attack?"

Severus sneered. "I don't underestimate your research skills, Miss Granger. I'm sure you have checked this for invisible writing and numerous other concealment charms. Believe me, I did the same. All these tests were negative."

She lifted up her eyes and looked at him critically. "So...?"

"What about some kind of communicator?" he suggested. "A parchment with a twin – when you write something on it, it will appear on the second one as well and vice versa. There are dozens of magical items that work that way." After all, who else would know better then her? Her magical coins were a hot topic in the teacher's lounge for many months after her fifth year.

Hermione nodded but scowled immediately. "But if that man lost his parchment two weeks ago, then what sense did it make to use the other one?"

"There could be more of them. They might think this one is simply lost. And considering nobody prevented that fire, or even suspected an attack that night, then they have no idea that anyone of consequence has it."

"That would explain a lot," she murmured, looking again at the parchment. There was a long period of absolute silence. Hermione seemed lost in her thoughts, eyes lowered, one single strain of her nut-brown hair falling into her face.

Finally she lifted her head and smiled at him slightly.

"If you are telling the truth, you are a damn lucky man, Mr. Hawke. You were in the right place at the right time and crucial evidence just seemed to hop into your hands."

"I have no reason to lie to you," Severus said quietly. He meant it. He couldn't explain exactly why, but he wanted her to trust him.

Once again, Hermione looked into his eyes as she considered all he had said. He could tell she was weighing something in her mind. "In that case D.I.A. will use you biggest strength," she finally said. "We need eyes and ears in the Muggle world. Most magic folk are unable to blend in so well, or I'd send in a DIA member or an Auror. But to be honest, we don't have the time to develop a background for one or train them properly. Do you still have your car?"

Severus nodded.

"Then continue in your work. If you will, talk to your clients. Gage public response. Listen for underground whispers and rumors. Anything that might be helpful or informative, not only to the investigation, but also anything that would help us with public relations. Report to me in the mornings. The rest of your day is free…starting today." She took a piece of paper out of her desk and began to write on it. "Now if you'll excuse me," she continued as she handed him the paper, "I have a press conference with the Minister and Auror spokesman in a half-hour."

He looked at the paper quizzically. _Nine twenty-seven Grey Street._ "What's this?"

"My address," she replied, matter-of-fact. "If these people have an insider in the Ministry, then I don't want them seeing you hanging around here. It would kind of defeat the purpose of a spy, now wouldn't it?" She smiled at his look of skepticism. "Not that I don't trust you, but should you try anything funny, I would warn you that Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes set up my home security system."

Severus cocked an eyebrow. "Point well taken."

She stood up to indicate the meeting was over. Shaking hands at her office door, she repeated, "Damned lucky man." She smiled a genuine smile. "I hope this luck will stay with you."

oOo

Severus left Hermione's office exactly at nine o'clock. The elevator was so full that Severus hardly got in; he had to use his elbows while mumbling something that could be considered an apology. As the elevator started to go down, he noticed that there were more than twenty people in the cabin, but all of them were unusually quiet. Some just starred dumbly forward, still unable to cope with the fact that it was a new working day. A few others held the Friday Daily Prophet, trying to read amidst the jostling. The loudest sounds were the rustling of the paper airplanes around the elevator light and the swish of turning pages.

Soon the silence was interrupted by a young voice. "Could I catch one, Daddy? I just want to look how it is made so I can make one at home."

A few witches smiled as a man's voice answered something quietly. Severus sneered. He could get on very well without the girl's high-pitched voice so early in the morning.

"Of course I will release it! I just want to look!" said the little voice impatiently.

After a moment, the excited face of a little girl with bright brown eyes and two pigtails appeared over the heads of the sluggish wizards and a little hand grabbed one of the airplanes in a flash before she disappeared again.

For the next few moments only the rustling and swishing could be heard. Then the man's voice spoke, this time a little louder. "Now release him, Lily. That was the deal." The airplane flew back up to the light and Severus started. He hadn't heard that voice for eleven years, and he was hoping he would never hear it again.

It was the voice of Remus Lupin.

As the elevator stopped at the fifth floor, a few people got out and Severus used this opportunity to squeeze himself to the back wall of elevator, as far as possible from the voice of the invisible Lupin. He figured his old schoolmate wouldn't recognize him face to face, but he didn't dare risk it; after all, Remus Lupin has known him much longer that anyone else who survived the war. They never got along very well as it was, and then after Dumbledore's death... Severus was sure if Lupin knew he was here in the elevator, his next meal would be dinner in Azkaban.

At the sixth floor, a burly witch stepped into the cabin and right in front of Severus, hiding him nicely. He could hear Lupin talking to the girl about her mum, whom they probably escorted to work today. He kept his fingers crossed. The next stop was the atrium, and no doubt Lupin with the girl would get out there. Severus promised himself that he would be quite careful and never cross paths with Lupin again. Good thing he never had to show up to the Ministry again.

When the elevator finally stopped at the atrium, the rest of wizards and witches began to crowd out of the cabin. Severus pressed himself to the wall and held his breath. No risking. He could just take an extra ride on the elevator to give Lupin time to leave the Ministry. Anything to avoid a confrontation. The plump witch in front of him was the last to leave, and as the doors closed, he realized that only two people remained in the cabin with him: Remus Lupin and the little girl, just tall enough to reach Lupin's elbow.

Severus gulped nervously when the golden grill shut with a loud clang and the elevator moved again with just the three of them on board. He tried to calm himself and leaned nonchalantly against the wall. Perhaps they had an appointment on the next floor. But as the floors lurched by, he began to worry. He glanced over at his ex-colleague. Lupin still looked the same--ten years barely touched him. Actually, he looked better than ever. His face wasn't so sick and pale, the nice black habit he wore suited him, and the kind expression on his face when he talked to the little girl showed he was quite a happy man. Severus then looked at the girl – she gesticulated exuberantly and her brown eyes gleamed. Lupin's eyes. Who _was_ her mother, anyway?

The girl caught his eyes and smiled. He scowled a bit and turned her out of his sight – and right into Lupin's. His look was watchful and searching as he carefully scanned the scar, than lowered his eyes to a name badge Severus had on his chest. When he looked up again, he almost smiled.

"How nice to meet an old schoolmate after so many years! We haven't seen each other for ages..." Again he glanced at the badge, "...Samuel."

Severus' heart skipped a beat and he firmly palmed his wand in his pocket. An accident, right? He had to try, though.

"I'm sorry, you must be mistaken. I really don't remember studying with you, Mr..."

"Lupin." Lupin's smile widened but his eyes narrowed. "Remus Lupin." The elevator stopped with a loud bang at the bottom floor. It wouldn't move until one of them pressed a button. Lupin shifted to his right a bit so his back covered the control panel. Severus was trapped.

"I'm sure you will remember me once I name a few things we went through together. We share some common memories from our teenage years – and from our adult ones, as well."

Severus thought frantically how to get out of this tight corner. It wasn't possible to simply run away – there was just one staircase at the end of the hall and Lupin would certainly alarm all the Aurors before he could even get to the front door. The hand clasping his wand was sweaty. He could try a memory charm – Lupin wasn't holding his wand in his hand, he could be quicker. But what about the girl? He tried not to panic. _Damn elevator, going right to Azkaban!_

His silence interrupted the girl's voice. "Who is it, Daddy?"

"Samuel Hawke," Lupin answered, his eyes never leaving Severus' face. "An old schoolmate from Hogwarts. Do you remember what I told you about Hogwarts?"

"I do, but I can't remember anyone called Samuel."

"We weren't at the same House. But later we worked together as teachers and we even fought in the war together. Look at him carefully, Lily, because this is how the war hero looks."

She stared at Severus, beaming. "Are you really a hero, sir?"

Severus swallowed hard and clenched his fists. What kind of game was Lupin playing? Wasn't it enough he had him cornered? Was he trying to mock him, to kick him down for good? He searched Lupin's eyes looking for any sign of derision, disdain, or hatred – but he didn't see any of them there. He saw caution and expectation, but nothing else. It just didn't make sense.

Severus gave a heavy sigh. "I am not a hero, little one," he said, turning to the girl. "I just did my duty, same as your father and many others."

"And what are you doing here and now, Samuel?" Lupin asked quietly.

Severus barely recognized his hoarse voice. "The same, Remus." There was a long moment as the two men locked eyes. Finally, Lupin stepped away from the wall, pushed the button marked _Atrium_ and the elevator went up with a pull.

"I would like to invite you for a dinner," Lupin added. "I am sure my wife won't object."

"Your wife?"

"Nymphadora Tonks. Surely you remember her?" Severus nodded. Who could forget the clumsy Auror? Oh Merlin, an _Auror_. "Lily here is our oldest," he said with a smile as he patted the little girl's head. "Her younger sister, Cassie, is visiting her grandmother today, and we expect the youngest one in few months."

Severus shifted a little. "I'm not sure it would be wise to tell your wife about...Well, not many people know of me. No one, actually." He hoped Lupin would be astute enough to understand his meaning.

Lupin lifted an eyebrow and nodded. "All the same, you must come. Otherwise I would be forced to send you another invitation." Lupin's voice was still warm, but Severus recognized the warning very clearly.

The elevator stopped at the atrium again and the grill opened. Lupin, Severus and Lily quickly stepped out before the wave of waiting people hurried in. Lupin reached into his habit, pulled out a piece of paper and a small quill and jotted down his address.

"Well?" he asked expectantly giving it to Severus.

"I'll come," Severus nodded with a scowl.

"Good man," Lupin smiled widely and patted him on his shoulder. "I'll see you on Sunday at six p.m. then."

He took Lily into his arms and walked towards the Floo network. As he grabbed a bit of Floo powder, Severus called out to him. "Remus, how did you..."

"Oh," Remus grinned and tapped his nose. "I have a wicked sense of smell. You appearance may change, but you still have a very distinctive scent, Samuel."

Severus watched aghast as the Remus and the girl stepped into the flames. Hermione

was right. He was a damned lucky man. For today anyway.

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**A/N2: Lupin's words _a wicked sense of smell _are my beloved quote from Wade's story _Behind the Closed Door of Order_. Do not miss this special fic!**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Wade here—the slacker responsible for such a long wait between chapters. I would like to give a shout out to harmonybites for not only her patience and encouragement, but for being the best damned "reporter" a girl could ask for. And as always, to the lovely Danae, who gave us the climax we've all been waiting for (pun intended?).

**Let the games begin.**

oOo

About two seconds after her door closed, Hermione collapsed into her chair. Not that her meeting with Mr. Hawke had been particularly taxing, but her head was pounding. The bright light that filtered into her office was waging war on her eyes, and her stomach refused to stop doing somersaults. It was an educated guess that she drank way too much Firewhiskey last night. Well, at least she woke up in her own bed—alone. That was a relief.

What wasn't a relief was the fact that in a half-hour, the Minister, Tonks, and herself would be facing down a roomful of desperate journalists with nothing more than a lick and a promise. Groaning at her own foolishness, Hermione fumbled around her desk drawer for her stash of pain-relieving potions and Pepper-ups. She was going to need all her wits about her to face down that horrible Skeeter woman today.

oOo

Ernie Macmillan easily fell into stride with Hermione as she headed to the green room. It was oddly comforting to her that Ernie looked more frustrated and harassed than she felt.

"What have you got for me today?" came his terse greeting.

"Unfortunately, not much more than yesterday," she sighed. "The Prime Minister is understandably on edge about the whole business. The Muggle public is breathing down his neck wanting answers, and all he can do is recite the spin control we've fed him."

"About how law enforcement is dedicating all available resources to the investigation, the perpetrators will be caught and severely punished, and that any additional information the public might have to please step forward?" Hermione nodded. Ernie had put all that school-age pompousness to good use by becoming the Minister's public relations man. Not only was he extremely confident and had a knack for politics, but he was also far better looking in the Prime Minister's office portrait than that Umbridge look-alike. After a beat, he added, "How are the Muggles cooperating with the investigation?"

"They are doing incredibly well, considering the circumstances. Kingsley and I were able to smooth over most of the ruffled feathers in the police and fire departments, and the Muggle Minister has agreed to let us handle the situation…for now." She waited for his next question. When it didn't come, she pressed on with one of her own. "How is the Wizengamot handling this?" She knew the Wizengamot was going to be tough to deal with and she didn't envy Ernie in the slightest. Most of them remembered VoldWar I, and all of them were present for VoldWarII. Although impossible, the thought of the defeated Dark Lord returning sent them into a blind panic. It was only a matter of time before the witch-hunt began.

The same thought must have weighed heavily on Ernie's mind, as well. "Well, the crusty old farts are a bit cagey, but we all expected that. The real surprise is that Percy Weasley has taken the lead and convinced them all, and the Wizarding public, to let the Ministry do its job and investigate thoroughly before they jump to any conclusions."

"Good ol' Percy," Hermione smiled half-heartedly. "The last thing we need is internal strife within the Ministry." Her voice had a convincing tone to it, but her mind added that the Ministry might already have more internal strife than it needed. She nervously fingered the paper in her robe pocket.

Conversation ended for a minute as they reached the green room door. Inside, Neville and Tonks were already there and waiting. Neville stood as he reached out to shake Ernie's hand, and then turned to take Hermione's. Ten years had been more than kind to Neville. The once pudgy, round-faced boy was now tall and broad-shouldered. Lost was his magical ineptitude and found was his impressive self-confidence. Reflecting, Hermione realized that she couldn't quite pinpoint the change in Neville's demeanor. All she knew was that he entered the war a child and emerged a man. And considering the impending doom waiting through the door behind him, he smiled warmly as he greeted them. Hermione, somehow reassured, smiled back. Ernie quickly took a seat next to Tonks, who had a file open and ready for his perusal. Neville, however, waited for Hermione to take her seat before once again taking his own.

"Now that we're all assembled, let's talk strategy before we're thrown to the wolves," Neville opened, still smiling like his political life wasn't hanging in the balance.

oOo

"Besides the press packets you all have been given, we are also going to have a short question-and-answer period," Ernie began. Invited to the press conference today were a handful of reporters, from each of the major European journalistic venues. Whoever arranged this must have thought it would be quaint to set the room up all cozy-like, with cushy little tea tables for the reporters to sit at, while the Minister, Tonks, and Hermione sat exposed in hard-backed chairs at the front of the room. Ernie would hide in a shadowy corner, stepping out only to act as emcee, or rather referee, for the impending sideshow. "Please keep your questions brief and on-topic."

A tall lady in tweed immediately raised her hand, and Hermione recognized Tracy Walker, the well-known reporter of the Daily Prophet. "How long can we keep the Muggle public at-large unaware of the real nature of the attacks?" Hermione took a deep breath and stepped to the podium, feeling as if on auto-pilot. "The Muggle Prime Minister," she started calmly, "has absolute confidence in the capabilities of the Ministry of Magic. He promised to do everything in his power to give us the best conditions for investigations, including complete secrecy. I'm sure we can keep Muggles out of this till we find the culprit."

Fortunately, the reporters didn't press that issue any further. The next question came from Alan Finley of the Wizarding Wireless Network, who asked after the victims. "What can you tell us about the children at St Mungo's--can anything really be done for them?" With professional concern written on her face she answered them with the same calm voice and placatory words she mastered during the last six months. When her turn was finally over she sat down exhausted--she was fed up with this disguise and her headache did not make it any better. The questions now focused on the investigation—meaning it was Tonks' turn.

"This is the third attack and we keep hearing the same platitudes," Deborah Robb, the redoubtable investigative journalist from Quibbler, started in her usually brisk style. "What is the department doing to fully investigate this?"

Her stern mask melted when Tonks rose oh-so-slowly. Hermione noticed that a few journalists smiled; it seemed that Mrs. Lupin's belly would be the best distraction today. "Not only do we have the top Aurors on the force working on this, but we are working hand-in-hand with Muggle authorities, as well." Tonks' professional tone made it obvious to everybody that she was not going to rely on her future offspring for pity points. "We have also appealed to the Wizengamot for additional funding to support a full-scale investigation." Hermione, sure of Tonks' competence, settled herself in her seat and for the first time in last few hours and allowed herself to relax a bit. Still listening to the questions and answers _("No, so far no one has taken responsibility for these attacks. However, we do know that we are dealing with a very powerful and very twisted witch or wizard")_, she started scanning the people in the room. She saw many familiar faces from the Daily Prophet, the Wizarding Wireless Network, and the Quibbler. She noticed that Luna had chosen not to come herself, as the head of the now popular magazine cherished their friendship too much to use it to her advantage. Plus, she preferred to leave the dirty work to her employees.

Hermione heard Tracy Walker enter the ring again. "The victims are all poor, all Muggles--is that why this investigation isn't high priority?"

Tonks' cool composure was betrayed only by the tapping of her quill. "I assure you, Ms. Walker, this investigation is our _highest_ priority. The fact that the victims are all poor and all Muggles has bearing only on the kind of sick-o we are dealing with, and not the Ministry's level of commitment to justice."

In the front row sat the foreign correspondents from _Nouvelles de Enchanteur _and _Allgemeine Zauberei_. And there, at one of the back tables, was Rita Skeeter. Hermione's eyes narrowed and Skeeter smiled innocently at her. The Ministry post-war pardons that somehow included an amnesty program for unregistered Animagi was a very clever and generous act, and Hermione often wondered how many palms Rita had to grease to not only pass said legislation, but keep her "journalistic" advantage a secret protected by law. Hermione knew Skeeter hated her with all of her heart. Under the slippery exterior of an independent reporter was a fierce and enduring enemy, longing to pay back double everything she had suffered during the brief period she was under Hermione's thumb. And pay back Rita did. The past ten years was riddled with personal attacks and insinuations aimed at stalling Hermione's rise through the DIA and her reputation with the Wizarding public at large. She could only imagine what was coming today.

"Doesn't this have all the hallmarks of You Know Who or one of his followers--even you admit his was a magical attack by a powerful wizard--who else would attack Muggles?" The question in a heavy French accent forced Hermione to turn her attention away from Skeeter and back to the front row. The young, pretty witch was obviously the new recruit of _Nouvelles de Enchanteur_.

"Yes, this does seem like déjà vu," Tonks sighed and threw an I'm-going-out-on-a-limb-here look at Hermione. "However, there are problems with that theory. There have been no sightings of the Dark Mark over any of the crime scenes, and all known Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban."

"Except Severus Snape," came a voice from the back of the room. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. This was it.

"Excuse me?" Tonks challenged. Rita simply looked up lazily from her packet.

"Except Severus Snape. He is still wanted for the murder of Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione felt her dislike for the pesky journalist rise to the surface. "Severus Snape is dead," she answered frostily. "I watched him die ten years ago."

"Oh, that's right," Rita drawled, turning to face Hermione like a cat taking interest in her prey. Her leg even twitched like a tail in the air. "Right before his body disappeared," she snapped her clawed fingers, "into thin air."

The dislike turned to anger, and she had to take a deep breath to keep from yelling. "His body didn't disappear. It burned. I watched it burn, absorbing a curse from Voldemort himself."

At the name of the Dark Lord, Rita flinched. Neville, however, did not. Instead, he stepped in the middle of the argument. "Many bodies remain unidentified after the war, hero and criminal alike. Severus Snape is listed as a fugitive for that reason, and that reason alone. But until proven otherwise, he is assumed dead based on multiple eyewitness accounts of his death." Neville's voice meant business. Rita glared at him before she composed herself and with a sweet smile, continued.

"But speaking of Death Eaters past and present, I have to admit that personal politics of the DIA department seems a bit counter-productive to me--especially in this case."

"Could you be a little more specific?" Hermione growled through gritted teeth, though she knew what those words meant.

"Isn't it true," Rita Skeeter purred, "that you have someone in your department who is not only a Slytherin, but also from a family with longstanding Death Eater relations--a woman whose own mother was convicted of murdering her husbands?"

Hermione clenched her fists. "Francoise Zabini herself is not only a competent and absolutely trustworthy member of our team, but has no criminal record of any kind. I do not hold her accountable for the actions of an estranged mother who had nothing to do with Francoise's upbringing, and neither should anybody else. She is a phenomenal individual whose integrity can be hardly questioned by someone like--" she bit her lip and paused for a moment. "--By anyone."

"However," Rita continued easily, "we cannot find another department in the Ministry who would dare to employ a person with these kinds of connections. Could it be that the DIA is allowed to keep such a _extraordinary_ personnel policy because of an _extraordinary_ relationship between the Head of the DIA and the Head of the Ministry of Magic?"

Every head in the room turned towards Rita, half in shock and half in interest. Aware of the attention focused on her, Rita went in for the kill. "Isn't the romantic interest between yourself and the Minister of Magic a conflict of interest?"

Hermione was immediately on her feet and the whole room was silent. The shocked journalists waited for an angry outburst--but what interrupted the silence surprised them all.

Neville burst out laughing. Freely and heartily. It was something so unusual for this distinguished young Minister that the rest of the room remained frozen for a moment, but then smiles appeared on many faces. When his laughter didn't cease and his body started shaking, a few in the room began to chuckle.

"That's a good one, Rita," he said, when he was finally able to catch his breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I must admit, I really needed a good laugh today. Thank you." Taking another deep breath, he turned to look at the rest of the reporters. "Any other _important_ questions?" The room exploded in laughter again and Rita just pursed her lips in angry defeat.

Hermione Granger, however, didn't find any of it funny. The jab went too deep. As soon as Ernie ended the meeting, she speedily left the room.

Pushing her way through the crowded Ministry halls, she passed the elevator and headed for the seldom-used stairwell. When the tears started to fall she broke into a run, and her heart and feet pounded in time up the three flights of stairs to her office.

She was leaning against the enchanted window when she heard a quiet knock on the door. There was another knock when she didn't respond.

"Hermione, I know you're in there," came Neville's voice. The glass was cool on her cheek as she turned her back to the door. Behind her the lock clicked and she heard the door open. Quiet footsteps crossed the room and a hand rested on her shoulder.

"I probably should have thought twice when making my enemies in the past," Hermione choked out. "I'm really sorry about what that...that _cow_ said about…" A lump caught in her throat. "I mean…I just…"

The hand on her shoulder gently turned her around to face him and then lifted her chin. "Listen," he said, his concerned blue eyes sternly holding her gaze, "Rita Skeeter is a cow, no matter who you are or what your past happens to be. And if Ernie is to be believed, every reporter is your enemy." A slow smile crossed his face as his eyes turned away in thought. "Unless, of course, that reporter is Luna Lovegood."

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. Neville knew he had won and continued, standing straighter and imitating Ernie's pompousness with uncanny accuracy. "'Luna isn't a _reporter_, she's the _Editor-in-Chief_. There's a _difference_.' I swear, that boy…" he said, shaking his head.

Hermione felt a giggle escape through her tears. "I know. You should hear what she has to say about politicians and their conspiracies," she admitted. "Unless, of course, if it's the _honest_ and _noble_ Ernie McMillian…"

"Those two are absolutely clueless, aren't they?" he conceded. His smile faded into concern again as he tucked an errant strand of Hermione's hair behind her ear before realizing how close he was and stepping back slightly. "But seriously, Hermione, how are you doing? I'm sorry I haven't been more communicative lately, but as I'm sure you know, it's been absolutely crazy around here…" he said as if he really needed to explain the stress Hermione had been feeling herself.

She tried to shrug off his concern with a non-committal "I'm fine," but Neville just crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against her desk. "Don't lie to me, Hermione. I haven't seen Rita Skeeter reduce you to tears since our fourth year." His voice dropped into a whisper as he added, "What's going on?"

Not knowing where to even begin, she leaned against the window again and let the cool pane caress her cheek. She focused on the snow swirling and let herself believe for a moment it was real. "It's just…" she took a deep, shaking breath before she could continue. "It's happening again, Neville."

"I know," came the quiet voice behind her.

The tears started to fall again. "It's like--like a nightmare that I can't wake up from. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see cloaks and masks. Every constellation looks like a Dark Mark in the sky. But they're not there, and that's the problem…" She knew she was starting to ramble, but once she started she couldn't stop. "There is no face to this enemy. At least back then, we knew who we were facing. We knew what evil looked like. Now all I see are burned children and twisted metal and…and…_nothing_." She paused for a moment and felt the anger at her helplessness grow. "Merlin's balls, Neville, we were kids. Kids! And we were asked to face the most evil, twisted Wizard this country has ever seen. And we did it, we defeated him. We defeated evil. And what do we have to show for it? Where is our peace?" She turned to look at Neville, who was still leaning against the desk, arms crossed and looking down at the floor. She could tell he had no answers, either, and if anything, was feeling just as helpless as she was.

"Ten years ago," he began, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again, "we sacrificed our childhood to give other kids the chance to grow up in a better world. We didn't know it then, but we weren't just fighting so that little witches and wizards could have a better future, but we were protecting Muggle children, too."

He shook his head before looking up at Hermione. She was slightly taken back at the pain she saw in his eyes. "And sometimes, I can't help but feel like we failed." He looked away again and lifted himself off her desk. When he spoke again, the pain was gone and resolve had settled across his shoulders like a mantle. "Then I remember what Professor Snape said in Defense. He said that fighting the Dark is like fighting a many headed monster, and that each time one neck is severed, it sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. Evil is indestructible." He stepped closer to Hermione and once again laid a hand on her shoulder. "We won once, Hermione. And we'll win again."

"Do you really believe we'll win?" Hermione whispered.

"I have to. Or else there's no use in fighting, is there?"

And even in the face of so much hopelessness, Hermione felt oddly comforted by his words. She thought of the little boy who blocked the exit to the common room and stood up to his friends' rule-breaking, and realized that Neville had somehow grown up into the man he was always meant to be. Most had regarded him as a child with no promise, overshadowed by his parents' sacrifice and his overbearing grandmother. Now look at him—the most important person in Wizarding Britain.

She wondered where that left her. The hopelessness returned.

"How are your parents?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

Neville understood what she was trying to do, but let it slide. "They're fine. I'm planning on seeing them tomorrow when I stop by the burn unit at St. Mungo's. The Weasley twins donated a bunch of, well, _entertainment_ for the Muggle children and asked if I would join them in the delivery. They even have a Muggle clown costume for me and all." He smiled as he shook his head in mock disbelief. "I refused to let that tidbit slip at the press conference today because I don't want any pictures taken of the event. Could you imagine what that would do to my approval ratings?" he joked. "Ernie would murder me!"

Hermione laughed with him. He was right—Ernie would be mortified if he saw the Minister of Magic in a clown get-up. Knowing the Twins as she did, she knew it was going to include a lot of make-up and a huge wig, as well. They loved taking the mickey out of political figures, and Neville was not exempt.

Neville looked at his watch and started for the door. "Sorry to cut this short, but I have a meeting with the French Minister of Magic at three and I still have some things to get together. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I am…really," she said, but then amended it. "Well, I'm feeling better now. Thanks."

"Not a problem," he said over his shoulder. "What are friends for?"

He was at the door with one hand on the doorknob when he stopped. "Wait a minute." Hermione looked up from the papers she had begun to shuffle through and looked at him quizzically. Not taking his hand from the knob, he turned back. "I know this is probably the worst time, but the Anniversary Gala is only a month away, and…" he cracked a lopsided smile. "…And I wanted to know if you would come with me."

Surprised, Hermione set her papers down again. He was right. It wasn't a good time, but here he was, asking all the same. She was quiet for a bit as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Neville. I mean, hell, you were there. You heard what Rita was saying downstairs. It is a conflict of interest, and I don't know…" She let that thought go unsaid. She wasn't sure she wanted to date the Minister of Magic, even if it was Neville Longbottom. "And it's over a month away," she added, as if that had any bearing in the situation.

Neville held his hands up defensively. "I know, I know. I just wanted to ask you before some foreign, over-aged, terribly handsome international Quiddich star beat me to it." He stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. "Some foreign, over-aged, terribly handsome international Quiddich star hasn't beaten me to it again, has he?"

Hermione laughed. "No, nobody has asked me."

"Good," Neville said with a boyish grin. "Looks like I've got a date."

Hermione tried not to let her smile turn into a grimace as a stone fell into the pit of her stomach. Her knees felt like someone just hit her with a _Jelly-Legs_ and she set her hands on the desk to steady herself. "Yup. Looks like you do. Now get, before the French send the Aurors out looking for you."

Two seconds after Neville closed the door behind him, Hermione sank into her chair. Her headache was back and she felt sicker than ever. What was her problem?

_Come on, Hermione, who are you kidding? _She knew what it was. It was the fact that the Anniversary was a month away. Ten long years. Every year, she spent March 17th at home with only dear old Uncle Ogden for company, drinking herself into a stupor while the rest of her world celebrated around her. For most it was a day of happiness, but for her…And Neville had just made sure that this year she couldn't hide from it. She would have to rejoice with the rest of them, pretending that it was an event to celebrate.

The hope she had found in Neville's confidence was quickly fading away. Gathering her purse and leaving any trace of work behind her, she decided to leave work early today. She had had enough and just wanted to escape.

Permanently, if she could. She was starting to wonder: if evil was as ever-present as Snape had said, what was the point in fighting?

**A/N cont'd: **_ Give me a few days, but responses to reviews from chapter three (from a Wade perspective) and other fun, behind-the-scenes tidbits will be posted on my livejournal: wade-scott. _


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: No amount of repentant words could apologize for the six-months gap between chapters four and five. So let me just say that I am deeply sorry and that both of us hope the next one will appear much more sooner. Thanks to all of you who supported us during this time. Thanks to all of you who came back to read it even after such a long time.  
And Danae's personal credits goes: to Wade whose editing work worked wonders to this chapter, making it witty and juicy. And to Harmony Bites whose fantastic beta service made it as readable as desired. _

oOo

Severus knew the way well. Guildford, a sleepy town about twenty miles from London, was a final destination for many of his customers. Today the A3 highway was almost empty, and the only thing he had to worry about was the wet, slippery road. It had drizzled all day, and it seemed that the real heavy rain was finally about to fall.Dismal weather, really. He turned on the wipers and kept an eye on the dark and empty motorway ahead of him. To be honest, he was grateful to pay more attention to his driving than what waited for him at Lupin's house. He had been trying to figure out what to expect for the past two days, but his normally clever brain always ended up at a dead end.

None of this made sense.

The whole encounter in the elevator was simply insane. Lupin had him cornered. All he had to do was speak a little louder, and the reward was his. Doubtless he needed it. Instead, he let Severus go--and invited him to dinner.

But what for? It could be a trap, but Severus didn't see the point. Indeed, Lupin's wife was an Auror, but how could a plate of home cooking be more effective than a flask of Veritaserum in one of the Ministry offices?

Could Lupin possibly trust him? If so, either Lupin was a much bigger fool than Severus had ever considered (and he had considered Lupin quite a fool and more back in the day) or Lupin knew something that Severus didn't. He didn't like the thought of that. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, he cursed softly under his breath. He couldn't imagine what Lupin must have on him. If the agreement with Dumbledore were truly known, the bounty on Severus' head would have been recalled long ago. But that wasn't possible. Their agreement was top secret, and then, at the end of the school year when everything went bad... Severus pursed his lips. Eleven years later didn't make the memory any less painful.

No, if Lupin trusted him, he surely had some other reason to.

Through the thick veil of falling water, he spotted the turnoff to Guildford, took his foot off the gas and turned left. Water splashed under the tires, but again the road was quiet and the only sound was the drumming of raindrops on the roof and the swish of the wipers. And something more. The loud beating of his heart. He put his foot on the brake, pulled off to the side of the road and stopped. He needed to breathe. To think. To decide.

Instinctively, he felt that the moment he stepped over the threshold of Lupin's house something would happen. He wouldn't be able to turn back, and he would be in it for good with his future uncertain. This was his last chance. Though Lupin had threatened him with Aurors, he knew full well that if he turned the car around, drove to Heathrow Airport and caught a plane to New Zealand, no one would come looking for him. Wizarding England had really much more important problems to solve right now than to look for a criminal accused of a murder eleven years old from a war long since past. Though escape was the only rational decision, something deep inside led him just the other direction. It was the same feeling that persuaded him to pass the suspicious parchment into Miss Granger's hands. And though things went rather different from what he had intended, surprisingly enough, it wasn't a complete disaster.

It was like he had walked into a new life the day he entered the Ministry. He had no idea where he was going, but still--for some reason he felt that it might be the right place for him right here and now. He could turn back and return to a life of minding his own business; to continue on this path required backbone and determination. But the tension and excitement of the past few days offered him something that he had gone without during the last ten years. Truth was, he missed it. He couldn't say he wanted to join Lupin's family for dinner. He had never liked Lupin nor had he ever been fond of Tonks. But it was a necessary stop on his way, a place to get a little more light for his dark path. He started the car again. He knew he didn't want to turn back.

The numbers of the semi-detached houses of Pewley Way were barely visible due to heavy rain and dim streetlights. Severus drove past the row of red brick buildings very slowly, trying not to miss Number Twenty-one. But when he got to the end of the street, he blinked in surprise. Behind Number Twenty was just an empty plot with a few bushes and a small, dilapidated shack in the middle. While such a building might have been Lupin's refuge in years past, he was sure the Ministry paid its Aurors more. He turned his car around and went back again--only to find the sad same shack, but no Number Twenty-one. He parked in front of the plot and turned off the engine. The drumming of the rain was much harder now, and he could even hear the howling of the cold wind. If this was the place where Lupin lived, it wasn't the standard Distraction Charm that covered his house--they only worked for Muggles. He stared blankly ahead, but then he smacked himself hard on the forehead and searched his pockets. There he found the card Lupin gave him at the Ministry.

"Mr. And Mrs. Lupin," he read in a low voice. "Twenty-one Pewley Way, Guilford." Looking up, he saw a dark shadow appearing in the middle of the rain curtain, more and more similar to a little red brick house. The lit windows shined though the dark wall and illuminated the wet garden and the falling rain.

oOo

"Would you like a drink before dinner, Samuel?"

He hadn't expect this. He sat at a table in a well-lit cozy kitchen, but his companion wasn't Lupin, but Tonks in a simple blue polka-dot dress. Cassie, a little girl about two, toddled around her, hiding from time to time behind her mum's chair and throwing long, mysterious looks at him from there. The older girl he remembered from the elevator, who met him at the door and excitedly invited him inside, now sat on the floor in the middle of the room making paper airplanes one after the other from a stack of paper in front of her.

"No thanks, I'm driving," Severus replied.

Tonks paused, confused for a second. "Oh, that's right. You arrived by car. Well, it's good to have a friend around in abstinence." She smiled and put her hand on her round belly, such a contrast to her slim figure. Turning to Lupin--Remus, Severus reminded himself--she asked, "What about you, honey?"

"Ogden with water, love, but just a little one." He indicated an inch between his thumb and forefinger.

Remus bustled around the stove, finishing dinner. Severus guessed spaghetti a la Bolognese by the smell. The apron saying, "Don't kill the cook, he's all we have" was in desperate need of a washing. From time to time he touched the paper airplane his daughter proffered him. Severus winced every time her high voice squealed in excitement as the plane took off and began to fly towards the ceiling.

Tonks put a bottle of Ogden, one glass jug with water and another with blackberry juice on the table. As she poured the drink for Remus and juice in the other four glasses, she asked, "Why didn't you Apparate? It would have certainly been more comfortable." She nodded towards the window, which was now rattling slightly with the wind.

Severus appraised her carefully. She was smiling and held herself with grace, but he felt she was as uncomfortable as he was. However, it didn't seem that Remus had given away his identity. Maybe she just needed some time to get used to his deformed face, like many he met for the first time.

He shrugged. "I'm out of practice, really. I've lived so long in the Muggle world, and I would have really hated to have arrived today without one of my legs." Tonks smiled at his joke. "I certainly drive better than Apparate now," he said, "especially when I want to get somewhere I've never been before. I didn't expect your house to be protected by Fidelius. Is it now Ministry policy for each and every employee?"

She nodded with a slight shrug. "Circumstances require it. But you...it seems you have a few unusual years behind you. I hear you drive a Muggle taxi now. Tell me something about it."

Severus inhaled uneasily. The question was innocent enough, but before he could even answer, an airplane flew swiftly past his ear.

"Lily!" Tonks shouted. Severus gave a slight start at hearing that name again, until he realized that Tonks was reprimanding her daughter.

"Stop it right this instant and sit at the table." The girl frowned a little but scampered into the empty seat next to Severus. With one swish of her wand, Tonks made all the airplanes land on the floor.

"She learned this at the Ministry," she said, gesturing with her wand at the planes. "One would believe she has already chosen her career."

"No, I won't work at the Ministry," Lily said. "I'm going to be a teacher, like Daddy--and Mr. Hawke."

Severus held his breath and Lupin paused stiffly at the stove. Tonks looked at Severus in surprise. "Remus told me you two met at school, but I had no idea you were a teacher, too."

"He taught at Hogwarts!" Lily cried. "Dad said so."

"Oh really?" Tonks' face was full of genuine interest. "What did you teach?"

Severus gripped his glass tightly. "Defense Against the Dark Arts." He learned long ago that half-truths were much more effective than blatant lies. "You might recall that the position was cursed. I had to leave after just one year."

"When did you teach? I certainly would remember you if it was during my studies..."

"Supper's ready, gang!" Lupin said cheerily and walked to the table with a large, steaming bowl. "Hand over your plates!"

Severus exhaled slowly. Tonks didn't pursue an answer, but before she put her littlest daughter on her lap, she gave him a searching look.

To Severus' relief, the two girls kept her quite busy during the meal. Especially little Cassie, who ate very reluctantly. She seemed more interested in their guest than her food, staring at him in such a scrutinizing way that she forgot to open or close her mouth. Her look made him nervous but didn't put off his appetite any. The spaghetti was delicious, and manners dictated that he say as much to the chef. Remus seemed pleased by the compliment.

"Remus is a fantastic cook," Tonks said, trying to feed Cassie another spoonful of spaghetti. "Actually much better than I am--he has no reason to be afraid of experiments. I was never too keen on cooking. My mother always said that I was hopeless at homemaking."

"She wasn't right," Remus replied, looking up from Lily's plate, where he cut her meal into smaller bits. "The girls love your meals, and I would kill for your desserts."

"Well, Saturday dessert is my payment to the family." Tonks gave Remus a little guilty smile and then turned to Severus. "They don't see much of me during the week, so I bribe them on the weekends. We saved this week's treat for tonight."

Severus smirked while helping himself to a little more Parmesan. Whatever was prepared for tonight, dinner seemed to be one of the better things.

The little girl on Tonks' lap wiggled impatiently. Just before Tonks released her--it was obvious that she knew Cassie too well to force her into eating more--the little girl kissed her mother's cheek. Severus blinked; for a very short time, he had the impression that he was seeing two identical faces, a tiny copy next to an inspiring original. Then the girl disappeared under the table, and Tonks just smiled at Severus and helped herself to some more spaghetti.

Severus realized how little he knew of the woman sitting opposite to him. Eleven years ago, she was a new member of the Order and, in his opinion, foolishly pining over the coward werewolf. He still saw her as his student--and he had never liked her when she was his student. Yes, she was extremely capable but also quite careless, disrespectful, and rich in that boisterous kind of humor that he rather detested. But the woman here wasn't a student anymore. She was a mother of three, a woman with a surprising career, and a woman with the experience of a war that left none of its combatants untouched.

In short, she was now an unknown person, and he realized that he had to start again with her and had better do it right this time, because any misstep would result in the same ending as eleven years ago.

He hadn't realized he was literally staring at her until something nudged at him from under the table. He jerked. Something touched his leg. Right next to his chair stood little Cassie, staring at him with her dark, serious eyes. Then, very slowly, she began to smile.For some reason the smile troubled him more than her cautious look. And then it happened--Cassie reached her chubby little hands to him.

Severus gazed at her in horror. He didn't like little kids, and he avoided them as much as possible. He didn't touch them or talk to them. And for most of them, the feelings were right mutual. But these obstrusive kids were different. It seemed he had gained supporters he had never asked for. Was it just Lupin's incredibly trusting genes? Or did his reputation of Kids' Eater die on the last day of the war ten years ago?

His life hung often on the thin string of flexibility, self-denial and instant decisions. He reached out his hands, picked Cassie up and put her awkwardly in his lap.

It was a strange feeling--not exactly uncomfortable, but a little odd. It was like carrying something extremely fragile but living and warm at the same time. He had no idea how to hold her, and if he was allowed to touch her at all. Cassie didn't seem to notice any discomfort, however, and rested her back against his stomach so he could clearly feel the beating of her little heart. He just hoped she wouldn't stay long.

"We've trained her not to bite, Samuel," Remus said, bringing Severus' attention back to his surroundings. He realized his internal horror must have expressed itself in his body language.

"It's just that I--I don't have much experience with children," Severus stammered. "At least, not ones this small." While he felt quite tied down, Cassie was more than comfortable and proceeded to chase down the leftovers on the plate in front of her. After a particularly greasy bit landed on the bridge of his nose, he was thankful to see Tonks clear the table. Cassie took this as her cue and settled against his stomach, yawned, and promptly fell asleep.

He was so absorbed in the little girl; he didn't realize that Tonks was also talking to him. "Sorry?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the child.

"I just want to know if I can offer you a piece of cake."

"Of course," he replied, though he couldn't imagine how he would be able to eat it.

He thought better of accepting Tonks' offer once he laid eyes on the cake. It was...lumpy--and moving. A Mimbletous Mimbletona sprang to mind, but decorated with garish frosting flowers in unappetizing colors.

He now understood why Lupin did all of the cooking. It was a relief that he didn't get squirted with ooze when she sliced into her creation, but it didn't ease any of his apprehension when a slice was passed to him. The death rattle didn't seem to bother anybody else, though, and the Lupins tucked in excitedly. Giving a furtive glance around the table, he gathered his courage and scooped up a forkful.

By the coloring, he surmised that it was chocolate and the smell confirmed it. He quickly stuffed it in his mouth and immediately felt a calming, soothing sensation spread from his head clear down to his toes. Strange. Something was magnifying the medicinal properties of the chocolate, but before he could consult his rusty internal potions catalogue, Tonks spoke up again.

"You know, Samuel, when Remus told me he had invited an old schoolmate to dinner, I was surprised. I thought I knew all of his old friends." He could feel his inner alarm start to fight the cake in his stomach. He rested against the chair and kept his face calm. There was a smile on her face and her voice was light, but he knew the conversation was going to turn serious.

"When he told me your name, I was even more surprised. Just that day, Hermione Granger had told me of her new hire in the DIA." Leaning forward, she managed to rest her elbows on the table in front of her and rest her head on her laced fingers. "She said you were a very...well-connected man." Her right eyebrow arched, and Severus understood her meaning completely.

She knew about the parchment and his missing past but knew better than to say too much in front of her children. He nodded slightly. "Even I am amazed at the people I meet in my line of work," he said, before taking another casual bite of cake.

"Driving a taxi is an odd line of work for a wizard. In fact, you've lived as a Muggle for...how long again?"

He swallowed forcefully. "Ten years."

"That's a long time. Might I ask why?"

Severus raised his glass to his lips to clear the lump from his throat. Lupin leaned on one elbow, just as interested in the answers to his wife's questions as she was. Bastard must have known there was going to be an inquisition, but too chicken to do the interrogating himself. Any faith Severus had in the man started to fizzle away.

"Well," he said once the glass was safely returned to the table, "my father was a Muggle. A prominent town leader, in fact. I felt as comfortable in his world as I did my mother's." _Just as comfortable. Meaning not at all._ "The Muggle part of my upbringing was always alive--and sometimes very alluring. Both the magical and non-magical worlds have indisputable strengths and weaknesses."

Lupin finally spoke up. "I've always thought of trying to work in the Muggle sector. If I could find a way to have excused absences once a month. Sooner or later, people would be suspicious." He shrugged in resignation.

"And you didn't raise any suspicion, without Muggle identification papers or education?" Tonks asked.

"Muggle identification papers aren't difficult to obtain, and you don't need much of an education to drive a taxi." Severus replied. He knew his answers were slightly incriminating, but not nearly as bad as if he had included his previous employment, as well. Better to let her think he lived on the fringes. "It's amazing how easy it is to cross cultural lines without detection. Nobody suspects to see a wizard in the Muggle world, and vice versa."

The flicker in her eyes told Severus that he had hit upon what she wanted to know most. "But what made you want to cross that cultural divide?"

He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible while choosing his words carefully. "Like most people during the War, it was either stand up and fight or run. I had no attachments in this world--I was single and my mother had died years before--so like a coward, I ran."

"It's not true!" cried an angry little voice on his left. All of them turned to Lily in surprise. Severus felt a chill run up his spine.

"Lily," Tonks said sharply before she controlled her surprise. Calmer, she asked, "What on earth is wrong?"

"It's not true!" she said hotly. "It's not true he's a coward! He can't be a coward if Dad said he was a war hero!" With one fist on the table, she raised her arm and pointed to her dad. "He told me they fought side by side. War heroes never leave the fight, and Dad never lies!"

Severus cursed quietly. As nice as it is to have an ally, her emphatic outburst was doing more harm than good for him at the moment.

Tonks turned slowly to Lupin. "Is that true? Did you tell her that you fought with Samuel in the war?" Severus could tell Lupin was thinking as quickly as he could, but before anything useful came to mind, Tonks' expression started changing.

He could see her picture every member of the Order in her mind...here comes the teachers at Hogwarts...the fact that he was half-blood...the fact he had been living among Muggles for _exactly_ ten years...

When she turned back to Severus, she didn't smile anymore. Their eyes met, and he could feel the cold sweat start to run down his back. The silence was never ending.

Swiftly she stood and came around the table. "Remus," she said in an icy tone, quickly snatching the sleeping baby out of Severus' arms, "it's time to put the kids to bed."

Lily said: "But I don't want..."

Tonks quickly cut her off. "Without any argument." The hurt in the little girl's eyes made him feel slightly guilty. "You're welcome to stay, Samuel," she said from the bottom of the steps, her voice as sharp as a knife. "But I would certainly understand if you wanted to leave before the storm gets any worse." It was evident that her self-control was teetering on the edge.

Lily was obviously confused at the change in her mother's demeanor. She looked between her mother and Severus, trying to figure out what she had done wrong. Lupin stood and said quietly, comfortingly, "Let's go, honey."

Slowly she slid down from her chair and walked around Severus. Before she reached her father's outstretched hand, however, she turned back and threw her arms around Severus' waist. "Good night, Mr. Hawke. I'm sorry I got you in trouble. I hope you can come back; I like you."

He gulped and as her father led her to the stairs, he whispered, "Good night, little one."

Lupin was the last one in the room and looked back. Holding up his hand, he indicated that Severus should wait.

To hell with that. Severus felt riveted to his chair. A strange silence prevailed in the kitchen, but outside he could hear the pounding rain and howling wind. Perhaps leaving wasn't the best tactic. Surely the angry Auror activated some Guarding Charms, or Tracking Charms, or... What he needed was information.

He stood and quietly approached the bottom of the staircase. Eavesdropping wasn't an honest form of gathering information, but it was usually the most effective. Gently testing his weight on the bottom step, he heard voices from upstairs. Lupin's quiet voice and indistinguishable words told him that they weren't at the top of the stairs but rather in a room with a door open.

"...You even told him how to get through the Fidelus Charm! Where we live! Don't you realize you have endangered your own children? Lily! And Cassie!"

He couldn't make out Lupin's reply. Perhaps if he were to get closer...but he decided against it. He didn't know if the steps creaked, and he definitely didn't want to be on the staircase when Tonks came out of the room.

"Yes, he did," Tonks replied. Her voice was even louder now. "Quite a handy piece of evidence to come up with, don't you think? Severus Snape has always been a terrific actor. He played his loyalty to the Order oh so perfectly for so many years."

Lupin's words were undistinguishable again.

"The fact he is able to caress a baby's cheek doesn't prove anything!"

He didn't hear what Lupin was saying, but Tonks' angry answer was hard to miss. "Fine! Don't share whatever your reasoning is. But I can't help you. You've manipulated me into a rather precarious situation as an Auror just because you wanted to play detective. Just remember, if you're wrong, you will have put the whole wizarding world into grave danger!"

This time Lupin's reply was much longer, but all Severus could understand was the tone of his voice--peaceful and soothing. When Tonks spoke again, her voice was quieter and very tired. Severus had to listen carefully to her words. "All right, this evening is yours, but he leaves our house right now. I don't want to see him anymore tonight. We'll save any decisions for tomorrow. But please, please don't forget that the last man who trusted him ended up dead."

Severus clenched his fists. That hurt. A lot. Swiftly he turned away and summoned his coat. He had just opened his car door when it slammed shut on him. Behind him, Lupin was pocketing his wand as he hurried to catch up. The sheet of rain blurred his outline, but it was obvious that he was coatless and soaked. Severus had no pity.

"What in the hell was that?" he asked, pointing angrily at the house.

Lupin was obviously confused for a bit. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that.

"For God's sake, Lupin, what was that for? Why bring me all the way out here for a cozy family dinner just to out me to the head of the Auror department? You could have done just as well at the Ministry!"

Lupin crossed his arms and stepped back appraisingly. "Would you rather I had?"

Apparently that wasn't a rhetorical question. He definitely expected an answer. Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Severus felt his anger slowly dissipate and sighed. "Just...what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that Severus Snape is neither philanthropist nor fool. Whatever brought him out of hiding and into the walls of the Ministry must be serious business. I wanted to know what that business was."

"You're an arshole."

"And apparently, a poor strategist." Lupin shrugged. "Severus, look. I know you have no reason to trust me. And that you resent the hell out of me. But shit's going down, and we don't have time to play the ally-or-enemy game. For what it's worth, I'm not going to turn you in."

"And Ms. Tonks?"

"She'll be keeping an eye on you." Severus raised an eyebrow at Lupin's admission. "But she's not turning you in, either. At great risk to her career, I might add." Lupin's stern look clearly told him not to take that for granted and do something stupid.

He scoffed in return. "How generous."

Did he trust an old enemy or not? Lupin seemed sincere enough. The Aurors hadn't rushed in yet, and he did take a huge risk of lifting the Fidelius Charm for a convicted murderer. _I'm out of practice. _Firmly grasping his wand in his pocket, he tried a bit of Legilimency to determine the truth of Lupin's intentions. He was incredibly rusty, but Lupin kept eye contact. He was getting feelings of sincerity, and...remorse?

Digging deeper, he tried to look for reasons why Lupin would trust him now.

"Because anyone in your position and in their right mind would be on a plane to New Zealand by now." Lupin answered aloud. "Unless they had a damned good reason to stay."

He scowled. Damn, he forgot Lupin knew Legilimency, too. He let a moment of silence pass before he answered, "Okay, then."

"Okay what?"

"Bleeding hell, Lupin, you don't expect me to pour my heart and soul right here in the rain, do you? It's fucking freezing out here!" He glared at Lupin as if the cold were his fault and wrapped his arms around himself.

Lupin cracked a grin. "Come on. There's a pub down the road. I'll buy you a pint. Merlin knows, I owe you one."

Severus opened the driver's door. "You owe me more than just one," he mumbled. "You'd better have one hell of a bar tab."


	6. Chapter 6

"He did _what?_" Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"He sat right behind me, as calm as you please, and described in detail--very imaginative detail, might I add--just exactly how he was going to kill me." Samuel was sitting across from her in her kitchen, just as he did every day after his shift. Today, like every other day for the past few weeks, he had no news. It had been oddly quiet since the tenement fire, and too soon the Wizarding public had forgotten the terror that walked among them. People had short attention spans, and as long as they were safe today, they were content. Hermione, and thankfully Samuel Hawke, knew better. They faithfully held to their breakfast ritual.

"And?" Hermione asked, a little breathless. She knew she sounded like a child, but Samuel had the most unbelievable stories. And he told them expertly.

"Well, there's not much I could do while driving, obviously," he answered, purposely drawing out the tale. He casually reached for a raspberry jam doughnut--his favorite, Hermione noticed, and made sure to stop by the bakery the night before--and took a bite. "Well, I could," he said, spitting bits of powdered sugar from his lips as he spoke, "he was definitely stoned enough. It's not like he would have remembered a well-placed hex in the morning. But mid-London traffic is a bitch as it is, and I didn't want to have to aim into the backseat while passing a double-decker." Hermione passed him a napkin, and he muttered his thanks.

Many mornings of stories and casual conversation had passed, and a sort of familiarity had replaced the awkward formality that had dominated their first meetings. It was nice to have someone so relaxed to talk to. Ministry officials were way too pretentious, stuffy, and self-absorbed--including herself.

"So I drove him to his destination, where he ordered me to get out. By knifepoint. In fact..." he pulled his collar down a half inch and pointed to a small scar on his right collarbone. "He got a bit overexcited, as you can see."

"He cut you? You let him cut you?"

He looked at her impatiently. "I didn't _let_ him cut me. But it's not like his motor skills were in tip-top shape you know." He glared at her slightly over his coffee mug. "As I was saying..."

Hermione had been friends with guys long enough to know her cue. Ducking her head slightly, she apologized. "But what did

you do?"

"I decked him."

"You decked him? Just like that?"

"Well, not 'just like that.' I very authoritatively kicked open my door, opened his, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, threw him against the car, and _then_ decked him." Hermione pictured it and laughed heartily. She could see some doped cretin

absolutely pissing himself as he tripped over himself trying to get away. Mr. Hawke might not be a large man, but he had an air about him with his nasty crimson scar and piercing eyes. The air of a man who meant business. And if that business was kicking arse, there was no doubt in her mind that he would do it--with relish.

He seemed pleased with her reaction to his heroic tale. "Funny thing is, I gave him a ride again just the other night. Didn't even remember the incident at all." His eyes turned pensive as he drank his coffee. "It's a good thing I lost faith in humanity a good many years ago. Otherwise, interacting with the public might surprise me."

Hermione knew all too well what he meant and nodded. _If only he knew what exactly people were capable of doing to each other_. She never understood how people like Tonks or the Muggle investigators she worked with made it from day to day. At what point do you become numb to the atrocities around you? She considered the man in front of her. He never talked about himself, his family, or his past. While his stories were always amusing or insightful, they were always centered around his work and the people he met from day to day. Truth be told, she still knew relatively little about who he was or where he came from. What unnerved her the most was how damn comfortable she felt with him. Who did he remind her of? How did she know him?

She felt as if she were on the cusp of discovery when the clock over the sink chimed eight. She sighed heavily and started cleaning up her place setting. "As captivating as your tales of bravado are, Mr. Hawke, I must ask that you excuse me a little early today," she said, with her most charming smile. "I'm afraid that I have an appointment at Gladrag's today for a final dress robe fitting."

"Dress robes? Hot date tonight?"

Hermione snorted. "I guess you could say that, considering the roasting I'm going to get from Rita Skeeter when I show up to the Anniversary Gala on the arm of the Minister for Magic tonight."

"Yes, Rita sure does seem to have a personal vendetta against you. Any idea why?"

"I blackmailed her over a decade ago."

"Blackmail?" His eyebrows shot up. "You must have been..."

"Fifteen. Unfortunately, she wriggled out of it by obtaining post-war immunity. And has paid me back ten-fold ever since. I must admit, she does keep me on my toes." Hermione waved it away with her hand and then smiled slightly. "Anyway, be sure to read the Daily Prophet tomorrow. No doubt it will be worth the Sickle."

OoOoO

Sometimes she thinks she's beautiful.

Tonight, however, is not one of those times. Oh, sure, most often she was pretty. She made sure of that. She took the time every day to battle with her hair, armed with Sleakeasy's and a great many hairpins. A few quick swishes with some mascara did wonders, as did the shoe-shine charm she perfected. On occasions like tonight she outdid herself, twisting her hair into an up-do with a cascade of curls and spritzing around her best perfume.

Fastening a crystal chandelier to her right ear, she wondered why she spent so much time fixing her outside when her inside felt so broken. She wondered if this was how Albus Dumbledore felt the night the Potters died. The entire wizarding world was celebrating the defeat of Voldemort while he laid a marked, orphaned baby at the Dursley's front door. Tonight they celebrate again, ten years after a small group stood by the Boy Who Lived and permanently laid to dust the most evil wizard of the century.

She found herself staring dumbly at the mirror when the doorbell rang. _Well, Hermione, it's showtime._ She put on her other earring and her happy face before she went to greet her date.

"Hello, Neville." The man at the door gave her pause for a moment. Though she saw Neville at the Ministry daily, and had known him for so long, seeing him in his dress robes of midnight blue amazed her. He had lost some of his roundness as he grew taller, and he had the color of someone who spent as much time out-of-doors as possible. She was somewhat shocked to realize that she was going to be escorted to the Gala by not only one of her best friends, but by a very attractive man. Even if his collar forgot to meet the iron today.

"Wow, Hermione," Neville replied. "You look..." Instead of an adjective, he offered flowers instead. She had to hold them away from her so the snapdragons didn't singe her hair.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Grow them yourself?" Neville just nodded. "Come on in, I'll put these in water."

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," he said, as his tell-tale nervous quiver crept into his voice. Hermione knew that soon he would be fidgeting and she smiled to herself. She couldn't remember exactly when Neville Longbottom transitioned from the trembling, near-Squib boy to the much-more self-assured wizard he was now. Although he was more comfortable with authority figures, he was still shy about girls. Even girls he'd known since he was eleven.

"Of course. After all, it would be incredibly pathetic if Neville Longbottom, Minister of Magic and Order of Merlin, First Class, came to a big Ministry gala _stag_." Neville's laughter seemed to lift her spirits. Drying her hands, she said, "But even worse is that the Minister of Magic can't even dress himself. Come over here." Hermione wondered how much fidgeting he did before ringing the doorbell.

"Yeah, Ernie has to give me the once over before any meeting," he replied, blushing slightly as his collar was straightened, an errant lacewing fly plucked off of his shoulders and the hem of his left sleeve magically mended.

"I can tell. Maybe it's time for you to give up your bachelor lifestyle and just ask Ernie to move in?"

"Hell, no. Ernie is way too fussy. He'd have a Filch-size conniption every time I came in from the greenhouse." His primping finished, he held out his arm. "Ready?"

Hermione was surprised to see that they had not Apparated to the Ministry, as she had expected, but rather to a small, grassy park near the Tower Bridge.

"What are we doing here, Neville?"

He spent a long time looking at the ground. "I was hoping to talk to you about something before we went to the Ministry," he said in a strangled voice.

Hermione was worried. He was acting strangely. When he reached into his robes and pulled out a small velvet box, she grew even more concerned. "Neville...what are you doing?"

He looked at her imploringly, as if begging for forgiveness. Handing her the box, he said simply, "Doing something I should have done ten years ago."

Stunned, she opened the little box. Inside was a gold ring, engraved with vines and leaves. She tried to hand it back. "Neville, I can't...I can't accept this. We've been friends forever, but...we haven't even dated."

Neville stared blankly for a bit before flushing deep crimson. "No..." he stammered. "It's not..." He walked over to the railing overlooking the Thames and leaning against it, placed his head in his hands. The breeze coming off of the river made Hermione shiver and she wrapped her cloak tight around her shoulders. Following, she stood next to him and put her hand on his back in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

It was a long time before he spoke again. "I was with him the night he died," he said, looking over the river.

Hermione felt her heart drop like a heavy stone. This was what she desperately wished to avoid tonight. Her eyes started to burn and Neville's face started to blur. "Please, Neville, don't..."

"I was so scared, but Ron wasn't. He was determined. It was the last Horcrux, and we had planned to divide and conquer, remember?" Hermione remembered. The idea was to destroy the last Horcrux right before Harry faced Voldemort and the last piece of the Dark Lord's soul. The plan required two different teams in a simultaneous attack. "The others got held up," Neville pressed on. His voice was wavering now. "Ambushed, but we had no way of knowing. We were supposed to wait for them, wait for Professor McGonagall's instructions, but no one came. Ron kept checking his watch over and over as darkness fell. He said, 'Neville, we can't wait any longer,' and I knew he was going in by himself. Then placed that box in my hand and wrapped my fingers around it. He told me, 'Take care of her, Neville.'" He choked on the words, and Hermione watched as his tears reflected the city lights, falling. " 'She's not going to understand. Promise me.' And I did."

The knuckles on Hermione's left hand were white from her desperate attempt to steady herself on the rail. "Why did you wait so long?" she whispered.

Finally Neville turned to face her. "You weren't ready."

"I don't think I'm ready now."

"Hermione, this can't go on any longer. He's gone. He's been gone ten years now."

She watched as the slip of gold in his hands blurred. "When we were searching Hogwarts for anything Tom Riddle might have left behind, I ran across the Mirror of Erised." Her breath caught and she choked back a sob. "I saw Voldemort defeated and Harry safe. And I saw Ron...and I..."

"You have got to let go."

"It's not that easy."

"I know that," he said, and she saw an odd intensity behind his eyes. "Doing what's right is seldom easy." Taking the ring from the box in his hand, he raised his wand to his temple and extracted a silvery thread of memory. The ring glowed blue as he coiled the memory around it, and with another tap of his wand, a thin gold chain looped from the wand through the ring. After pocketing the wand, he clasped the chain around Hermione's neck. "When you're ready, the ring will act as a sort of Pensieve. When you're ready, slip the ring on your finger and you will see. And you'll understand why, okay?"

"Okay." She couldn't hold back the tears any longer as the ache deep inside her threatened to consume her. The chain felt heavy around her neck like a millstone, and she gasped as if drowning. Neville's arms wrapped around her, and she clung to him as she sobbed. In that instant, she felt eighteen again--spotting Neville, alone and covered in blood, telling her the horrible news.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "So, so sorry."

OoOoO

It took Hermione a bit to compose herself before she felt confident enough to face the Gala. Apparently one of the perks of being the Minister of Magic was having your own security entrance. Hermione was grateful to have completely circumvented the throng of reporters and photographers stationed in the Atrium. Across the room, she saw that Harry and Ginny hadn't been so lucky.

"And it looks like this is where I abandon you," Neville said, jerking his head towards the frantic Ernie McMillian. "I guess I need to go over a few things before the party gets underway."

"See you at dinner, then."

Hermione had no sooner turned back to wait for her friends when Fred and George took the diversion that the Boy Who Lived Again offered and broke free of the media circus, with Fred leading the way in his wheelchair and George madly scrambling after. Skidding to a stop, Fred threw his arms out for an embrace. Of the two of them, Fred fared the worst in the war. Apparently Amycus didn't like Fred's freely-offered opinions and severed his vocal cords. Alecto didn't want to miss out on the fun and collapsed a giant archway soon after. George, in probably the most interesting twist of fate, now did the talking for both of them.

"Hermione!" George cried. Throwing his arms around her before she could greet his twin, he squeezed her until she thought her ribs would break. "It's so good to see you!" Fred nodded in agreement, then pointed accusingly at her.

"I know, Fred. It's just been miserable here at work the past few months, and..."

"It's been longer than that and you know it, Hermione Jane," George said sternly. "Don't try to use work excuses on us."

When she finally bent down to embrace Fred, he twisted her off of her feet and planted her squarely on his lap. He had a very expectant look in his eyes.

"Of course I'll dance with you!" Hermione laughed at Fred's ability to make himself perfectly understood without a single word. He lifted one eyebrow at her.

"Please don't make me interpret that one."

Hermione shook her head at George and leaned in to whisper in Fred's ear. "I thought that didn't work anymore." He turned his head to meet her nose to nose, eye to eye and waggled his eyebrows. His reply of "_Wouldn't you like to find out"_ came across loud and clear before he gave her a bold, yet brief, kiss on the lips.

"Oi!" A voice behind them shouted as a small hand swatted Fred on the side of his head. Harry pulled her out of Fred's lap and into his arms while Ginny berated the twins on their shamelessness.

"Don't you two have business to conduct elsewhere?" Ginny's bossy voice chided behind Hermione. "Shoo, you two. It's our turn." As George laughingly wheeled a protesting Fred away, Fred turned back and signed that Hermione had better not forget her promise to dance with him later.

Hermione smiled broadly in greeting, but her smile froze when she met Harry's face. His eyes traveled to Hermione's neck.

"He finally gave it to you," he whispered, indicating the ring.

She absent-mindedly fumbled with the chain. "You knew about it?"

"Of course I knew about it. He was my best mate. I found out Neville had it shortly..." Harry paused, finding it hard to continue. "...After." _After the funeral._ Hermione didn't miss the pain in Harry's eyes, and it was comforting to know she wasn't alone in her grief. But as Harry reached for the comfort he found in Ginny, Hermione felt cut off. She knew Harry had suffered much more than she had in life, but it still seemed unfair that things were so "happily ever after" for him and so empty for her. Didn't she deserve peace, too?

As soon as the thought came to her, she pushed it away with shame. She focused instead on their shared pain and asked the question she knew only Harry would know the answer to. "How did he get the money?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged smirks. "Remember Bill and Phlegm's wedding?" she asked. Hermione nodded. "Remember how the Twins couldn't even sneeze without Mum checking them for their latest product?"

"Well, Molly made the mistake of not watching Ron closely enough," Harry said, eyes twinkling. "Seems that Fred and George had expected the surveillance and offered Ron a phenomenal sum to act in their stead."

"Of course Ron jumped at it," Ginny said. "Not only for the Galleons but for the chance to pull one over on Fred and George. The idea was that Ron would spike the punch. It was a variation on a simple truth-telling and babbling-beverage. But instead of the punch, he spiked the champagne. Fred and George knew to avoid the punch, but not the toast!"

"But he wasn't too chuffed when the prank backfired on him," Harry said, laughing. "He was as mad as a rampaging Hippogriff to find Fred trying to corner you in the pantry!"

Even Hermione laughed at the memory. Truth be told, she was just as guilty as Fred in the pantry incident. Other than the comfort he offered at Dumbledore's funeral, Ron still hadn't made much of a move, and she had been quite fed up with his timidness. She knew it was immature and sneaky, but appealing to Ron's jealous streak did the trick in forcing him admit his feelings for her...even if Fred did suffer a black eye.

"About time you showed up, Harry," Neville said, interrupting their laughter as he approached behind Hermione. "Hard to start a celebration without a guest of honor."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Guest of honor, my arse. You know how much I wanted to be here."

"About the same as the rest of us, I know, I know," Neville replied, holding up his hands in defeat. "But what the public wants, the public gets. The same can be said of Ernie. He says it's time for the show to start."

Ginny turned to Hermione as soon as the men were out of earshot. "You didn't tell me you were coming with Neville!"

"I didn't think it mattered."

"Of course it matters! He's the Minister for Magic!"

Hermione shrugged. She didn't really think of him as Minister Longbottom. "Nah, he's just Neville. I think he just wanted to pass on the ring, and this was a good opportunity to do it."

With one look, Ginny made it clear what she thought of that. "Come on, Hermione. He's fancied you since we were kids. Ron just made sure that he--and any others, for that matter--kept their distance."

The pit in Hermione's stomach grew every time Ron's name was mentioned. Hoping to change the subject, she asked, "Your mum didn't come?"

Mercifully, Ginny let the subject drop. "Nah, she hasn't had much interest in Ministry functions since Dad passed." Arthur had been gone three years now, finally succumbing to complications from his snake bite. Losing Arthur was the last thing Molly needed after the war, and Hermione understood the desire to fade out of the public spotlight. "I think she's enjoying being at home with the kids more anyway. She's got ours and Bill's. Spoiling them rotten as only Grandma can, I'm afraid."

The two women wound their way around guests and chairs to the tables in front of the podium. Only important ministry officials and dignitaries had assigned seating. She was pleased to see Percy, already seated at the head table. He rose to greet her as she approached.

"Hermione. How lovely to see you again," he said formally as they exchanged a small hug. His greeting to Ginny was as formal--Percy was notorious for being stiff and reserved in public.

"It's good to see you too, Percy," Hermione replied, graciously taking the chair he pulled out for her. "You as well, Penelope," she added to the attractive woman with long black hair at his right side. Miss Clearwater, the well-known style journalist, had been Percy's girlfriend for as long as Hermione knew him. Privately, she thought that the chances of Penelope becoming Mrs. Percy Weasley were somewhat dim, but if Penelope cared, she played well that she didn't. "I heard the first printing of your new entertainment guide rivaled last week's _Witch Weekly_ circulation."

"Thank you, Hermione," she said and offered a very demure handshake. "Our hope is to appeal to the younger witch, who finds herself strapped for time but not responsibilities."

The conversation was interrupted by Ernie calling everyone to their seats. Once the room quieted, Neville stepped up to the podium.

"As Minister for Magic, I would like to welcome you all here this evening." The spotlight danced across the Order of Merlin medal pinned to his chest.Harry was wearing his, too, and was trying to appear casual and gracious standing next to Neville.

"It took Neville three whole weeks to convince Harry to even attend this thing," Ginny leaned over and whispered to Hermione. "Still don't know how he got Harry up there with him."

"Tonight we celebrate the final victory over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Neville continued. The crowd murmured in approval, while Harry winced slightly and mouthed _Voldemort_. "Tonight we celebrate the heroes. Most of whom are with us. Many of whom are not." Neville's expression turned somber and the crowd quieted. On cue, a waiter handed both men tumblers.

"To our fallen friends," he said. His eyes swept over the crowd before resting on Hermione. "And to the mothers and widows who still wait for them."

As the crowd toasted, Hermione realized why Harry had agreed. Neville's speech was short, sweet, and not focused on Harry. She watched him remove his medal and slip it in his pocket as the two men approached the table. Hermione knew that he meant no disrespect, he simply didn't think he deserved the honor.

Percy rose as Neville approached him. "Congratulations, Percy," he said with a clap on the shoulder before seating himself. Penelope beamed as Percy muttered his thanks.

"Percy here has been nominated as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," Neville leaned over and explained to Hermione. The material of his dress robes felt cool against her bare skin as they brushed shoulders.

"Really?" Turning at the waist, she reached over and squeezed Percy's hand. "That's wonderful! You must be the youngest Chief Warlock..."

"Ever. But the Ministry wasn't planning on announcing it until Monday." Percy seemed confused by Hermione's gesture, but didn't remove his hand.

"Your mum is going to be so proud," Hermione said with a final squeeze.

Dinner was pleasant, even if Hermione spent most of the meal pushing her food around on her plate. Conversation revolved around Percy's new appointment at first, but soon evolved to the end of the Quidditch season and speculations on the upcoming playoffs. Shortly after Voldemort's defeat, Harry decided that he had enough of chasing Dark Wizards and pursued his love of Quidditch rather than his dreams of becoming an Auror. He had made the reserve team for the Pride of Portree after Hogwarts, but was traded to Puddlemere United just last year. Harry couldn't have been happier when he was traded. He had made it a personal goal to see Dumbledore's favorite team finally make it to the World Cup.

Taking a mental break, Hermione looked around the room. She saw Tonks not three tables away with a very old, very grizzly Mad-Eye Moody. The full moon was only two nights ago, giving Remus the perfect excuse to bow out of tonight's celebrations. Mad-Eye had insisted on taking his place in escorting Tonks tonight, citing her "delicate condition" and the ever-present need for constant vigilance. Tonks told Hermione that she didn't mind. It was either cut meat into manageable bits for Cassie or for Mad-Eye. As if sensing Hermione's attention, Tonks turned and gave her a suggestive wink and a thumbs-up.

Blood rushing to her cheeks, she jerked her eyes away and tried to catch up with the Quidditch talk. First Tonks, then Ginny...who'd be the next person to try to play matchmaker? Much to Hermione's chagrin, it was Fred. As soon as the plates were cleared and the band started, Fred was at her elbow and waiting for her to make good on her agreement. Even Neville had a good laugh before shooing her away.

"No, Fred, Neville and I aren't dating, so don't even ask," she said as soon as she was settled in Fred's lap and being wheeled around the dance floor.

Letting out a low whistle, Fred signed, "Defensive."

"Don't even pretend that you weren't going to bring it up."

Fred just shrugged and continued wheeling them around in as close to a waltz as a wheelchair allows. "Why not?" he asked after a few moments.

"Excuse me?"

Pulling out his wand, he tapped the chair twice, allowing him to continue "dancing" hands-free. He wrapped one arm around Hermione's waist and looked deeper into her eyes than she was comfortable with. "Why _aren't_ you dating Neville Longbottom? Or anyone else, for that matter?"

"That's none of your business, Fred," she replied through clenched teeth. She was getting tired of this conversation fast. Why was everybody so concerned about her dating status tonight? She was starting to regret even coming tonight. Her patience with this whole _celebration_ was waning.

Reading the rising anger in her eyes, he gently pulled her into a soft embrace. She was startled to hear a raspy whisper in her ear. "All I'm saying, Hermione, is that we all want to see you happy again. Even Ron. Whatever--whoever--makes you happy again, well...I know he'd be okay with it."

Fred didn't say anything else, but by the time the song ended, he had managed to waltz across the room, leaving Hermione in front of the War Memorial. She suspected that he had left her there on purpose. _Well, it's now or never,_ she thought to herself. _Might as well get this over with. _

The new war memorial covered the south wall of the atrium. Expecting something as horrific as the Fountain of Magical Brethren (which, to her dismay, had been rebuilt the same as the original), Hermione was surprised to find a simple wall with the names of the deceased engraved in the black marble.

"I got the inspiration from the Vietnam War Memorial in the States," came a voice beside her. Dennis Creevy leaned casually against the wall, staring thoughtfully at the names. "So often history becomes legend, legend becomes myth. Just a story full of names and dates that some boring old ghost recites while you try desperately not to fall asleep. I wanted something we had to confront everyday. Something that made us remember the fallen."

Hermione noticed that his shoulder was resting on Colin's name. She took a few steps forward until she was less than an arm's length away.

"Doesn't that fall under intellectual property laws?" Neville asked as he approachedbehind her, his tall figure reflecting in the black marble.

"Those laws don't apply between magical and non-magical communities," Hermione answered absently. Her focus drifted from the discussion of ethics between the Muggle and wizarding world behind her to the names in front of her. It was fairly comprehensive and included the witches and wizards lost in Voldemort's first reign of terror as well as the second. She ran her fingers along the names, trying to remember them as she went. The Prewetts, the Potters, the McKinnons...

"Neville," Hermione called over her shoulder, "Your parents aren't on here."

Neville seemed surprised at her observation, but stepped forward to look for himself. "Well, they're not dead. So I guess they wouldn't be, would they?" Although his voice held the note of sadness it always did when he talked about his parents, Hermione was amazed at his resilience. She slipped her hand into his and gave him a supportive squeeze.

"They should be. They should be remembered, too."

He squeezed back. "Thanks," he whispered.

Her free hand continued to travel along the polished stone and drifted across the names of the lost Hogwarts teachers; Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid. She noted sadly that her former Potions professor was missing. Despite her frequent assertions that he had saved her life that final night, his memory was still as shrouded with doubt as his life had been. His name, however, wasn't the one she was searching for. Crouching lower, she found it.

_Ronald B. Weasley. _

The cold stone under her fingers reminded her of the grey March day they buried Ron. Molly was inconsolable, burying the second of her precious sons in the space of just a few monthsHer anguished wails were a stark contrast to Hermione's dry eyes. Closing her eyes, Hermione recalled the feel of Ron's school robes, crisp and pressed, the contrast of his red hair and pale skin, and the coolness of his forehead as she kissed him goodbye. He had died a brave death, she had told herself. He had been one of many. She reasoned that if she didn't cry for them, then Ron would be no different.

The visions went away once she opened her eyes, but the numbness remained. It was ironic how the names of the departed reflected the laughing, dancing crowd behind her. If she were honest, she would admit that she was envious of their lives, their joy, and their forgetfulness. Dennis' efforts would probably be in vain--already, these people were just names on a wall.

"I'm sorry, Neville," she said, standing and turning back to face him. "But I think I've had enough fun for one evening."

Neville nodded in understanding. "Harry said that everyone was going to gather at the Burrow after the obligatory showing here. He said we were more than welcome to join them. Would you rather...?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nah. I'm sure they want to keep it family."

Neville looked as if he were about to say something, but decided against it. Instead he gave a faint smile and held out his arm. "Okay, then. Let's take you home."

As much as she wanted to leave the Gala, Hermione really didn't want to go home, either. Her feet refused to step across the threshold of her flat. Just a week ago she would have preferred to spend tonight at home with Uncle Ogden, but now that she was staring into her empty kitchen, she felt that it wasn't such an appealing idea.

"Hermione?"

"Sorry?" Turning back to Neville she realized that she must have been silent much longer than she thought.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked, brows knitted in concern.

"Yeah, I just...Well, to be honest, I was just thinking of what I would have been doing tonight if you hadn't asked me to the Gala."

Neville smiled sadly. "Well, I'm not sure I was a better date than Uncle Ogden." Hermione winced. Was she that transparent? "Anyway, thanks for coming with me tonight," he mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets and staring down at his feet. The contrast between the confident Minister for Magic and the nervous man in front of her puzzled Hermione. At the Gala, he was all smiles and charm. But alone with Hermione, he seemed like a first-year about to be sorted.

_He's fancied you since we were kids._

Oh.

Taking a step closer, Hermione slid her arm under Neville's bent arm and around his waist. "Thank you for inviting me tonight." She positioned herself directly under his downcast eyes and forced him to look at her. "Really. I'm glad I went." She could feel him relax into her embrace and she let the warmth of his body ease her loneliness. Before he could say anything in return, she raised herself up on her tip-toes and kissed him. After a few moments--the appropriate amount of time for a friendlier kiss, Hermione knew--he began to pull away. Lifting her free hand to his face, her fingertips softly stroked the soft divot behind his earlobe as his pulse quickened under her palm. Wrapping his arms wound her waist, he pulled her closer and returned her kisses with fervor. It felt good to be wanted. So good that she could feel her heartache gladly replaced by a growing knot of simple desire. Security was being in someone's arms.

After the emotionally draining night she'd had, she was eager to to drink up the feeling that sex offered to her. Hadn't everyone said Neville would be a good match? His lips and his hands certainly felt like a good match. Especially the hand that was slowly making its way down her back and settling provacatively low on her hip.

"Stay," she whispered, pulling back enough to brush her invitation over his stilled lips.

He didn't respond immediately, just stood frozen with his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he brought his arms up to Hermione's shoulders and took a half-step backwards. She tried to step forward with him, but he held her back.

"I can't replace him, Hermione," he whispered.

She tried to protest, but the pain in his eyes silenced her.

"As much as I wish I could," he said, voice low and threatening to break, "and as much as he might have wanted me to, I can't. I'm not Ron, nor will I ever be. I can't be another horizon you run to when you're hurting. It's not fair to me, and it's not fair to Ron, either."

Guilt ripped through her like an electric shock. Surely he didn't think...surely she wasn't trying to...

Oh, Merlin. She was. She could feel her embarrassment rise to her cheeks.

"Hermione, listen to me." She heard the pleading in his voice. "When you stop running, I'll be here. I mean it. If...if this is what you still want, come find me. Just please, stop running."

She couldn't watch him turn away and leave. Without looking up, she stepped backwards into her kitchen and closed the door. Overwhelmed with feelings of intense guilt, frustration, and despair, she sank down to the cool tile.


End file.
